Pave the Way
by couchbarnacle
Summary: Filled for a Kink meme that asked for Kid!John in love with Babysitter!Sherlock. Basically, it's just an excuse for fluff of epic proportions.
1. Chapter 1

**Filled for a Kink meme that asked for Kid!John in love with Babysitter!Sherlock. Hope you enjoy!**

"John!" Harry called outside the bathroom door. "What the bloody hell are you doing in there?"

"Nothing!" He shouted back angrily. "Leave me alone!"

"Get your arse out here, then, you great miniature menace!" Harry said while banging on the old, warped door. "Mum and I are leaving and she wants you to eat your snack before Sherlock gets here."

"I'm not ready yet!" He yelled again.

He heard his sister groan loudly before stalking off down the hallway. It was Wednesday which John knew was like Monday and Sunday because Harry had to go with Mum to the café to help bus tables. These were John's favorite days and especially Wednesdays. On Wednesdays, they stayed extra late 'til almost forever because of karaoke night. That meant that Sherlock, the most amazing boy he'd ever seen, got to stay late tonight. He grinned at his reflection in the mirror before putting the final touches on his outfit and walking proudly out of the bathroom before stomping to the kitchen to show off his new look to his Mum.

"Johnny," His mum stopped to stare with his plate of iced graham crackers frozen in mid-air as she looked her five year-old son up and down, "What on earth did you do to yourself?"

He didn't get a chance to answer before Harry burst into the room, took one look at her idiot, younger brother and started guffawing with everything she had. John felt his ears go red and his tummy rumble with irritation and embarrassment as Harry pointed and laughed.

"Oh, that's just priceless," She cackled. "Oh, look at him, Mum. What a complete infatuated loser!"

"Harriet Melinda Watson!" His Mum called out loudly poking his stupid-face sister in the shoulder. "Do you want to go to that concert this weekend? Because I would be more than happy to forbid you to go!"

"Oh, come on!" She drawled, "He looks like a complete wanker."

John felt angry tears start to form in his eyes and brushed them away quickly with his tiny fists before realizing that he'd just ruined part of his face painting. He looked at the purple streaks on his hand and tried to turn to run back to the bathroom before his mum caught him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He clung to her shirt as she picked him up and placed him gently at the table in front of his afternoon snack.

"Eat your snack, sweetheart." His mum said softly, "I think you look lovely."

"Do you think Sherlock will like it?" He asked quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the graham crackers he was breaking apart morosely with his fingers.

"I think he'll love it," His mum said running her fingers through his "expertly-gelled" hair, "Finish your snack dear and I'll help you properly tie your bowtie."

"Thanks, Mum." John said happily.

He spent the next twenty minutes agonizing over his "look" before he heard the doorbell go. He quickly ran to his room and hid behind his door as Harry ran over to fling the door open.

"Oh, you are in for a treat," She said snidely as Sherlock strode into the room with his school uniform ruffled, his hair artfully tousled and his features set in an exasperated frown at his sister.

"Oh, drinking before noon, Harriet?" Sherlock answered back coolly, "That not really much of a treat so much as a daily occurrence, is it?"

"Fuck off," She sneered, grabbing her bag and heading out to catch the bus.

"Sherlock!" His mum said happily, pulling the tall boy into a great big hug, "So good to see you! How's your family?"

"Adequate as always," He said, dropping his bag on their lumpy couch and smiling politely at his mum.

"Well, thanks again for watching little Johnny." She said with a wave as she made her way to the door, "He's around here somewhere. Have a good night and don't forget that he should be in bed by eight."

"Of course, Ms. Watson," Sherlock said with a small smile.

"Bye now!" His mum called out before racing out the door to meet his sister.

John stayed behind his door and watched silently as his babysitter shrugged off his jacket and made his way into the kitchen to get his usual glass of water. John crouched down lower and made his body as tiny as possible as Sherlock peered down the tiny hallway toward his room.

"Hide and seek already?" Sherlock asked calmly. "Usually you help me with my physics first."

"I'm not a baby!" John called out loudly unable to remain silent. "I'm much too much of an adult to play hide and seek!"

"Oh, I see," Sherlock said with a grin, "I guess I'll just have to play with Rupert then. That's a pity because we all know that cats are notoriously bad at hide and seek."

"You like hide and seek?" John asked hesitantly.

"Oh, very much," Sherlock said blandly, "It's one of my favorite things."

"It'll ruin my outfit though!" John called out sadly.

"Well, why don't you come out so that I can assess the potential damage myself?" Sherlock asked reasonably.

This was it. John sighed heavily and adjusted his bowtie firmly with his fingers. This was it. Sherlock would see his outfit and know that he looked like an adult and think that he was pretty. Because that's what Harry's magazines all said. That when you liked a boy, you put on make-up and your best outfit. Sherlock would have to like him back. He took a deep breath and then another one and then another one. And then he got a bit dizzy but shook that off before walking hesitantly out of his room and down the hallway to stand in front of Sherlock who was already sprawled out on the couch. He kept his gaze firmly on the patches on Sherlock's schoolbag to avoid seeing anything negative in his babysitter's face.

"Well," Sherlock said with an amused huff.

"Don't laugh at me!" John shouted as his heart jumped into his throat and he ran back to his room and slammed the door loudly. He curled up in his bed and wrapped his blanket around himself and cuddled fiercely with his stuffed frog. He wiped his face frantically on his quilt as he heard Sherlock make his way slowly to John's room and open the door.

"John," Sherlock said quietly crouching down next to the bed and placing his hand lightly on John's shoulder, "I wasn't laughing at you."

"Yes, you were," John muttered, "Don't lie to me. Harry laughed too."

"Yes, well Harry is about one symptom away from having a serious personality disorder so I think we can both come to a satisfactory conclusion that she's a terrible reference for what is and what isn't considered brilliant, don't you?" Sherlock answered firmly.

"What?" John shifted to look at his babysitter.

"She's completely barmy," Sherlock answered with a grin, "Oh, you've wiped off all your make-up."

"It looked stupid," John answered quietly, rubbing at his face to try and get the rest of it off.

"I didn't think it looked stupid at all," Sherlock countered firmly, "You have excellent bone structure and symmetrical features which allows you to wear that amount of make-up with ease."

"Thanks?" John said sounding both confused and hopeful at the same time.

"You're very welcome," Sherlock answered, "Now shall we go fix it and then watch some telly before dinner?"

"Okay!" John said happily, bouncing out of his bed and hurtling himself down the hallway to the bathroom. He crawled onto the counter and began sorting through his mum's make-up again to pick out colors. He sat silently as Sherlock walked in and began carefully washing the smeared eyeshadow off his face first.

"We'll start with a fresh palette, shall we?" Sherlock said absent-mindedly. Sherlock worked quickly, picking out colors and gently moving John's head back and forth to make sure he didn't stick anything in John's eye.

"Hey, Sherlock," John whispered as Sherlock was putting away the supplies neatly back into the drawers.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked.

"I think that you have symmendrigal bone structure too." John said even more quietly before flushing a deep red.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said with a happy smile before gesturing to his face, "What do you think?"

John turned around on the counter to get a good look at the paints and powders on his face. He spent more time glancing at Sherlock's face in the mirror than studying his own though.

"What do you think?" John asked cautiously.

"I think we've paid homage to your features rather well," Sherlock said, still smiling.

"Good," John said firmly. He hopped off the counter and made his way confidently to the living room to perch on one of the chairs as Sherlock turned on the telly and pulled out some homework.

"What are you willing to help me with tonight?" Sherlock asked idly, "The Fall of Rome or Cognitive Development?"

"Sherlock," John said hesitantly, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," Sherlock answered, "Why do you ask?"

"Do you have a boyfriend, then?" John asked instead.

"I have a boy that's a friend," Sherlock said cautiously, "What brought this on?"

"Just something I read in my sister's magazines," John said, "What's his name?"

"His name is Jim," Sherlock said quietly.

"You could bring him over if you want," John said quietly, "I'm sure my mum wouldn't mind."

"Jim's…not the sort of person that I would ever bring around here, John," Sherlock said awkwardly.

"Are you shamed of me?" John asked quietly, "Harry said that da was shamed of us. That's why he left. Are you going to leave too?"

"I'm not going to leave you, John," Sherlock said firmly, "Don't ever think that. I'm not going to bring Jim around because he doesn't deserve to know you. You're better than him."

"Oh," John replied, confused.

"Now," Sherlock said, changing the subject, "Would you like to watch The Adventures of Tintin again?"

"Yeah!" John said excited, letting his heavier thoughts fall away.

They spent the evening either playing pirates or working on Sherlock's homework. Sherlock conveniently forgot to put the casserole in the oven before seven so they were "forced" to order for a pizza. John fell asleep tucked up into the recliner around 9pm and Sherlock carried him gently to the bathroom to wipe the make-up off gently, claiming that John's mum would kill him if he let John fall asleep with it still on. He tucked him into bed and was just about to turn on the nightlight when John's tiny voice called out.

"Do you think that da will come back?" John asked, "If I make him not shamed of me?"

"I think that your father doesn't deserve you, John," Sherlock answered seriously, "You are, by far, the most brilliant person I have ever met."

"I love you, Sherlock," John breathed, as he yawned heavily.

He fell asleep before Sherlock leaned over to place a light kiss on his blonde curls and whispered back, "And I, you."


	2. Pave the Way Part 2

**It's two years later. John's seven and Sherlock's seventeen.**

**0000000000000000**

"Raaaar…feel my Asgardian wrath!" John yelled, tearing into the living room sporting his recently painted Thor crown and red towel/cape. "Sherlock!"

John dropped his Styrofoam hammer and almost tackled his babysitter to the ground.

"Good afternoon, John," Sherlock said with a small grin. "Am I detecting a theme for this evening?"

"Did you see it?" John blurted out, barely able to contain his excitement. He was practically quivering with excitement, "It was brilliant! With the explosions! And Hulk! Puny God!"

"I haven't had a chance yet," Sherlock grinned and crouched down to adjust John's askew crown, "What's this made out of?"

"Milk carton and pipe cleaners!" John said, grinning adorably, "And look at my hammer! Jolinmir! Mum made it for me!"

"Mjölnir," Sherlock corrected kindly, "And it is quite impressive."

"Do you wanna play?" John asked hopefully.

"Let me just go over the particulars of this evening with your mother and then I would be more than happy to play with you," Sherlock said positively, "I guess that makes me Loki."

"No!" John said gasping in disbelief, "Loki's the bad guy! You can't be the bad guy! You have to be Iron Man!"

"That settles it then," Sherlock answered with a smirk and another readjustment of John's woefully cockeyed helmet, "But who will be our villain?"

John glanced around his living room quickly before laying eyes on their gray house cat, "Rupert! He can be Loki."

"Alright," Sherlock smiled, "Go work on our battle plan and I'll just have a quick chat with your mother."

"Acceptable, Man of Iron," John said firmly before taking off to complete his S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in bedroom. He was putting the final touches on the bedsheet fort when he heard his mum call down the hall.

"Have a good evening, Johnny." She said happily.

"Bye, Mum! Love you!" John called back rearranging his action figures around the Tupperware container he was using as their table.

"Now, John," Sherlock said firmly, "Do we need to review The Art of War or are we just going to dive into this melee with chaos and surprise on our side?"

"Which one will be more exciting?" John asked.

"Chaos, definitely," Sherlock answered.

"Grab your suit, Man of Iron!" John called, "We attack at dusk!"

Three hours and one broken Styrofoam hammer later, John was splayed out on the floor of the living room with his glass of orange juice on his stomach watching "How to Train Your Dragon" while Sherlock sprawled on the couch and played with his mobile.

"What grade are you going to be in now, Sherlock?" John asked blandly.

"Well, I'm starting University this year," Sherlock said hesitantly.

"Harry was in University for a bit," John said knowingly, "She used to stay out late and told mum she was studying, but she wasn't. I'm going to be in 2nd grade."

"I know," Sherlock answered with a smile.

"Nobody else thinks I'm supposed to be in 2nd grade," John huffed, irritated, "They say I still look like a baby."

"You don't look like a baby, John," Sherlock said firmly, "Other people are just idiots. You shouldn't listen to them."

"Is University close to my school?" John asked, "Maybe we could walk home together when you're watching me in the afternoons."

"Cambridge is a bit of a walk from here," Sherlock said awkwardly.

"I guess you'll just have to take the bus, then," John answered.

"John, about this autumn…" Sherlock started gently.

"Mum's back!" John said happily, as he heard the lock click on the front door.

"Hello, boys," His mum said. "Johnny, say goodbye to Sherlock and go put your jimjams on."

"Okay," John said, bouncing to his feet almost spilling his drink everywhere, "Night, Sherlock! See you Sunday!"

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock said quietly before ruffling John's curls lightly, "I'll see you soon."

John quickly made his way down the hall but realized he had to double back to put his cup in the sink because Mum didn't like him to have drinks in his room. He halted suddenly when he heard his mum and Sherlock talking quietly by the front door.

"I really do appreciate you watching him last minute like this," His mum said tiredly, "Harry was supposed to do it but she decided her current role as a roadie was too important."

"I didn't mind in the slightest, Ms. Watson," Sherlock reassured, "It was good to see John one last time before I leave."

"So when are you off tomorrow?" She asked curiously.

"Early," He answered, "Mycroft's determined to have us on the road by 7am."

"You best get home. That's an early start," She smiled, "Are you planning on coming home often?"

"I don't expect so," Sherlock said, "It'll be nice to get away from here. Start a new chapter."

"You were always a bit too big for this little town," His mum answered.

John felt his fingers lose their grip on his cup and it clattered against the floor loudly. His entire chest felt shredded and empty. He stood there in the hall panting loudly and trying to process what he'd just heard. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. No. No! Sherlock couldn't leave! He promised! John focused on his mum's sad face and Sherlock's uncomfortable one.

He launched across the space and threw his arms tight around Sherlock's waist and clung on for dear life.

"I'm sorry!" John said frantically, "Whatever I did, I'm sorry! You can't go! You promised! Please! I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise. Just don't go. Don't leave me."

"John…" Sherlock said resting a hand on John's head trying to soothe the anxious kid, "I'm not leaving you…"

"Yes, you are," John said brokenly, "I heard you. You're not coming back. I heard it."

"I'm just going away to school," Sherlock said quietly, "Just think of it like I'm going on holiday for a bit. Just longer."

"But school's forever," John said, "And you'll forget about me. You won't come back. Nobody ever comes back."

"Sweetie," His mum said trying to extract him from his babysitter, "Sherlock's got to go to school. Don't you want him to go learn everything so that he can be really smart?"

"He's already smart. He's like the smartest," John hiccupped, "He doesn't need to be any smarter. He's my friend. He can't go."

"Oh, Johnny," His mum said sadly, "Sherlock doesn't belong to you. He needs to live his own life, but that doesn't mean you'll never see him again."

"Hey," Sherlock said, delicately extricating himself from John's fierce grip to crouch down and hold his shoulders gently, "You can write to me anytime you like. You can even call me when your mother says it's alright. I'm not leaving you, John. I'm just going on an adventure."

"Can I come?" John pleaded, "I want to go on the adventure with you."

"You'll go an adventure someday, John," Sherlock said with a small smile, "But it'll be _your_ adventure. A journey just for you."

"You'll come back to visit?" John asked tentatively.

"I promise that whenever I'm in town I'll come see you," Sherlock said honestly, "Now give me a hug, alright?"

John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock's neck and held on tight for several seconds.

"I love you, Sherlock," John whispered into those messy curls.

"I love you too," Sherlock said firmly, "Don't forget to call me. I'd be lost without my study partner."

John nodded but couldn't talk past the lump that was scrapping against his throat. He stood silent and deflated as Sherlock made his way out into the night and away from John. He shrugged off his mum's suggestion of some hot cocoa and went to his room, shutting the door behind him, and crawling into his bed. He fought back the tears that were trying to escape. Only babies cried and Sherlock had said he wasn't a baby. He tucked himself up tighter in his little bed and made a promise to himself that he'd be really good. Sherlock would have to come back if he was super good. He'd have to.


	3. Pave the Way Part 3

**Part 3! Once again, two years later. John's nine and Sherlock's nineteen.**

"Alright, pipsqueak," Harry said, rooting through the fridge while waiting for her toenails to dry, "We've reached an agreement, yeah?"

"I don't tell mum that you decided to leave me here alone so that you can go out with whatshername and you promise to take me to the zoo this weekend to see the snakes." John parroted faithfully.

"Spot on, soldier," Harry said ruffling his hair, "Remember the rules?"

"Lock the door, don't turn on any outside lights, don't answer the door if someone comes to knock, and run to Mrs. Hudson's house if anything bad happens," John said finishing up his dinner.

"You're our Boy Wonder, Johnny," She said happily, before heading back into the living room to slip on her shoes and grab her purse, "Behave. I'll be home around 2am."

John watched his sister dash out the door as a car pulled up to the driveway to take her out for the night. He quickly closed the door behind her and slid the bolt in place. He turned on the telly for a bit of company and went back into the kitchen to clean up after dinner. Carefully, he washed and stacked the dishes in the strainer and wrapped up the leftover pasta and placed it in the fridge. He glanced at the clock and sighed heavily when he noticed it was only 9pm. He gathered up his jacket and bike helmet. Rummaging through his room, he found the directions he'd carefully printed off from the internet. He was clever enough to have pressed the button specifically for bike travel. All of his teachers said that he was clever. He sat perched on the edge of the couch with his trainers double-knotted and his special reflective elbow pads wrapped tightly over his jumper. Finally, at five minutes to ten he gathered up all of his gear and double-checked that he had the house key that his mum had put on an old necklace for him to keep in case of emergencies. He locked the house securely behind him and went round the side of the house to grab his bike. Realizing that he couldn't see the directions at night, he went back in and grabbed a torch that was small enough to shove into his pocket.

Alright. Here I go. He made his way quickly but safely through the darkened streets. His mum was very particular about obeying all traffic laws and ever since she'd allowed him to start taking his bike to school on nice days, he'd been diligent about following the rules. He only had to go twelve blocks, which wasn't very far but it was in a part of town he'd never been so he'd decided to leave a little early. If he got there really early, he could just wait. He'd taken a nap this afternoon to ensure that he wouldn't get too tired. He checked his directions every block or so but was fairly confident about his route. His teachers all said he had an excellent sense of direction. As the noises got louder, he made sure to be more careful of avoiding the cars that passed him. He stopped a block away from the line that was forming outside of a door with bright green lighting. He stashed his bike and helmet in an alleyway because he didn't think it was cool to show up riding his bike and no one else had a bike either. He made his way quickly toward the back of the line and began to slowly scan the crowd as quickly as he could.

"Hey, you alright?" Some lady called out to him.

"Fine," John answered with a polite smile, "I'm just looking for someone."

Maybe he'd find him closer up at the front of the line. He began wandering up and around the block.

0000000000000000

"So what exactly do you have for me tonight?" Sherlock asked cheekily, pressing Jim against the wall with his taller form, "It had better be harder than that shit you gave me in Cardiff."

"Don't worry," Jim reassured him running his hands possessively over Sherlock's chest, "You're in for a treat."

Sherlock leaned in close to nuzzle and suck at Jim's scruffy neck when he felt a laugh bubble out of his dealer's throat.

"Oh, that's the best thing I've ever seen," Jim guffawed, "You have to see this little shit. He looks like a complete cunt. Look at his elbow pads!"

Sherlock turned to find out what Jim was making such a fuss about and felt his heart lurch heavily in his chest. He jumped away from Jim and out of the queue to catch up to the kid.

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"John!" Someone called his name and he whipped around and grinned largely when he saw Sherlock striding toward him.

"Hey!" John said feeling something warm fill his chest, "I found you!"

"John, what are you doing here?" Sherlock said, scanning his eyes over John to make sure that he wasn't hurt.

"I wanted to surprise you!" John answered, unsure as to why Sherlock didn't look as excited as he felt, "Harry said that she saw you here a couple of nights ago and I thought that I'd come too!"

"How in the bloody hell do you even know where 'here' is, John?" Sherlock said crouching down to meet John's gaze.

"The internet," John answered simply.

"Well, take a look at this little mutt," A man behind Sherlock said meanly, "What a little baby."

"I'm not a baby," John said fiercely, "I'm nine!"

"Nine inches tall?" He sneered, "Yeah, I can see that."

"Don't!" John said, moving around Sherlock to try to push the other man away. He grabbed a hold of his jacket but was shoved forcefully away causing him to trip and land on his hands and knees, scrapping his palms bloody. He felt tears sting his eyes as laughter sounded out around him. He was helped to his feet and tucked against Sherlock's side protectively.

"Fuck off, Jim!" Sherlock growled out before striding down the sidewalk with John close next to him.

"Sherlock," John whispered as loudly as he could while trying to keep up, "Sherlock…my bike."

They walked a few more feet before Sherlock stopped suddenly and pulled John into a tight hug. John clutched onto the back of his shirt despite his bloody hands. He felt Sherlock's heart beating rapidly against his ear and wasn't quite sure what was going on. After a few seconds, Sherlock pulled away and crouched down to lock his gaze firmly with John.

"Alright," Sherlock said calmly, "I'm going to take you back home."

"You don't want to stay?" John asked, "Harry said this place was cool."

"Not tonight," Sherlock said firmly, "I'm going to take you home and on our walk back, I'm going to make a few phone calls. I need you to know that no matter what I say on the calls, I'm not at all upset with you, okay? I'm not angry with you. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," John said shifting uncomfortably, "My bike?"

"Where did you stash it?" Sherlock glanced around before alighting on the alleyway, "Ah, I see. Let's go."

They walked quickly to the alleyway and John felt his entire stomach drop when he saw that his bike was missing.

"It was right there," John pleaded, "I put it against that bin. Where'd it go? Mum's going to murder me!"

"We'll get you a new bike," Sherlock said heavily before taking John's hand lightly and walking with him back toward his house.

"I've got these directions," John tried helpfully, pulling the wrinkled sheet out of his pocket and handing it to Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock said kindly, "You were incredibly thorough. Now, I'm going to make a few phone calls. Do you remember what I said?"

"Yes," John answered firmly.

John held on to Sherlock's hand as they walked through the dark streets and Sherlock started dialing his mobile.

"Harriet," Sherlock growled into the phone, "Of course you're not answering your phone because having it with you after leaving your brother alone at home would be the logical move and you're so far below average intelligence, it's laughable. First, I want to say that I think you are the most irresponsible, selfish, idiotic…"

John wasn't able to pick out much more from Sherlock's message because he started talking really quickly and John couldn't follow it. That call took them almost all the way back home and they were turning onto John's street before Sherlock took a deep breath and dialed another number.

"Ms. Watson, hello, Sherlock Holmes…I am aware that it's late and I do apologize for bothering you on your holiday with your new boyfriend…Rather obvious given my current predicament…Just a bit of news for you…I need you to know that John's fine, safe and with me…Deep breath, Ms. Watson…Nope, he's fine…I haven't the faintest idea where your daughter is…Don't worry, I'm taking him home now…I'll stay with him tonight…I'd recommend the 6:24am. It should get you here around 8am…With all due respect, I don't think that this is the most appropriate time for that…I know that he's your son, but…hold on…"

"John, your mother would like a word," Sherlock said handing the mobile over.

"Hey Mum!" John said happily, "How's London?"

"_John Hamish Watson," His mum said sternly over the line, "Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?"_

"I just went out to surprise Sherlock," John said confused, "I wore my elbow pads and everything!"

"_John, it is almost 11pm and you are not at home in bed," She said angrily, "Do you have any idea how scared that makes me?"_

"I didn't mean to scare you," John said feeling guilt tug at his heart, "I was extra safe."

"_Where exactly is your sister?" She asked._

"I can't tell you!" John said sadly, "If I tell then she won't take me to see the snakes."

"_Oh, you're not going to see the snake exhibit," She answered, "You'll be lucky to see anything farther away than the mailbox for weeks. You are so grounded."_

"Why?" John asked, "What did I do?"

"_The fact that you don't have the faintest clue as to why I'm angry, John, is reason enough to have a serious talk when I get home tomorrow." She said woefully._

"I'm sorry," John pleaded, "Mum, don't be mad."

"_We'll discuss this tomorrow," She sighed heavily, "I'll see you in the morning and John, I'm begging you, don't cause any more trouble for Sherlock. Now hand me back."_

John swallowed heavily and passed the mobile back over. He didn't hear the rest of the conversation because he was too busy battling the misery that was threatening to overwhelm him. They walked up to his front door still hand in hand until John pulled away to get his house key out to open the door. He walked in slowly and collapsed onto the couch.

"Why don't you go ahead and get your pajamas on, okay?" Sherlock asked kindly, "Then we can take care of your hands."

John dragged himself to his room and changed into his jimjams for the night. He dawdled as long as he could until he saw Sherlock's shadow form against his hall.

"I've got the first aid kit out," Sherlock said, "Let's go."

John followed him quietly and hopped up on the counter holding out his hands for Sherlock to see. John was quiet as Sherlock cleaned off his hands gently.

"I didn't mean to cause you trouble," John said softly as Sherlock applied a plaster to some of the deeper scrapes, "I just wanted to say hi. It was supposed to be a good surprise."

"You didn't cause me trouble," Sherlock said, catching John's gaze, "And you know that I always love seeing you. Do you remember Christmas? We made those snowflakes."

"Yeah," John replied, "But Mum's really mad."

"She's scared for you, John," Sherlock answered, "You weren't where you were supposed to be. You weren't where she knew that you'd be safe. She just got really scared. I was scared too."

"You don't get scared," John countered seriously.

"John, when I saw that you were wandering around that part of town at 10pm at night," Sherlock whispered, "I don't think I've been so scared in my entire life. Anything could have happened to you on your way to find me tonight."

"If it's a bad part of town though," John asked confused, "Why were you there?"

"That's an excellent question," Sherlock said after several minutes, putting the final touches on John's hands, "Unfortunately, I don't seem to have an acceptable answer for you. Shall we put the telly on until you get tired?"

"Alright," John answered jumping off the counter.

They settled down on the floor in front of the couch and put on a nature documentary about bees and John soon found his eyes drooping heavily. He leaned against Sherlock's shoulder until the taller boy placed a pillow on his lap and let John collapse against his thighs and drift closer and closer to unconsciousness.

"We're still friends, right?" John asked quietly, needing reassurance, "We'll always be friends?"

"You are one of the most important and treasured individuals in my life," Sherlock said seriously, "Don't ever doubt that."

"Good," John said, relieved, "You too, for me."

He felt Sherlock run his fingers lightly through his unruly hair and sighed as warmth and comfort spread through his tummy pulling him under.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock!" John cried out, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

"Really?" Sherlock asked dubiously glancing around, "You've never seen anything cooler than this?"

"It's like a space castle!" John said dropping his backpack and running to the big, full windows. He pressed his face against the giant plane of glass and looked at the view of the town trying to pick out his house from the flickering lights below. He felt Sherlock wander over as he was scanning the area and ruffle his hair affectionately.

"Oh, my," A woman's voice said mildly, "I didn't realize that you'd arrived."

John turned quickly to stare at the slight woman before brushing at his jumper to try to get rid of the wrinkles and smiling politely, "Hello Mrs. Holmes. My name is John Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well, aren't you just a little gentleman," She said, smiling.

"I'm technically nine and three quarters," John said firmly.

"Goodness gracious," She said, sounding astounded, "I can't believe that Sherlock has been looking after you almost six years now."

"I've hardly been looking after him," Sherlock huffed agitated.

"He's just the best babysitter in the whole world," John said seriously, "And my very best friend."

John turned a beaming smile on Sherlock unaware that there was a matching one from Sherlock's mum being directed at her son as well. He watched as Sherlock blushed light pink before clearing his throat and picking up John's suitcase.

"Is the guest room ready?" he asked mildly.

"All set up," she said to her son before turning to their houseguest, "Now Sherlock will give you the tour but don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Holmes," John said proudly, "My mum told me to say that this is very kind of you and that I won't be a nuisance."

"We're very happy to have you with us, John," Mrs. Holmes said with a bright grin, "Make yourself at home. Dinner's going to be here at seven, alright? I've got that event this evening so you boys will be on your own."

"Do you need me to help set the table?" John asked hurriedly, "Tom says I'm very good at setting the table."

"I will keep that in mind for the rest of the week," Mrs. Holmes nodded sagely, "But for tonight why don't you focus on settling in, alright?"

"Okay," John replied.

"Come along, John," Sherlock directed, "I'll show you where you'll be staying."

John trailed after him, trying to absorb the sleek gray, black, and metal details of the house. They walked quickly passed a sculpture of what looked like several spray painted, sparkly deer and up a flight of stairs that didn't seem to be held up by anything.

"Sherlock?" John whispered, "Is your mum a gazillionaire?"

"My mother did inherit a considerable amount of money after her father passed away which does pay for most of the day to day expenses of the household," Sherlock said blandly, "But she's hardly a gazillionaire. My father works in the government."

"Wow," John replied reverently, "Should I take my trainers off? Mike's da always makes us take our trainers off because he doesn't want us getting dirt on his investment. Whatever that means."

"That's because Mike's father is compensating for something," Sherlock said with a smirk.

Stopping in front of a random door along the hall, John leaned back to see that the big, frosted glass door went all the way up to the ceiling. John peered around his babysitter as the door was pulled open and blinked several times at the neon yellow and charcoal gray interior.

"My mother is experimenting with marked contrasting right now," Sherlock explained sounding a bit flustered.

"Does it glow in the dark?" John whispered hopefully, "Because that would be brilliant."

"I'll see what we can do about that, shall I?" Sherlock grinned, "Let's get you unpacked and then you get your bath in before dinner."

John helped as much as possible as Sherlock unpacked his small suitcase into the wardrobe and listened attentively as Sherlock explained the taps in the bathroom. Sherlock left him to it and he carefully stripped and folded his clothes before filling the bath. He stared curiously at the soaps and bottles lining the tub before placing them neatly in a line on the shelf by the toilet and swapping them out for his Captain America shampoo and soap. He washed quickly and put on his brand new jimjams that Mrs. Hudson had brought back for him from Edinburgh. He wandered out into the hall trying to orient himself to the stark hallway. He was just about to start knocking randomly on doors when Sherlock came out of the room directly across from him.

"Ready for dinner?" Sherlock asked before beckoning toward the staircase. As they walked down, John heard the doorbell go and heard Mrs. Holmes answer it as Sherlock led him into the kitchen.

"Orange juice?" Sherlock asked pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

"Yeah," John smiled and sat quietly on the bar stool.

Mrs. Holmes bustled in with a couple of pizza boxes held far away from her cream, structured dress.

"Orange juice with pizza?" She asked eying her son warily.

"John's favorite drink," Sherlock shrugged placing a glass in front of the boy with a grin.

"I was wondering why it was on the shopping list," She said breezily, "Dig in and don't cause any trouble. I'll be home around midnight."

"Have a very good time tonight," John said.

"Well, thank you," She said placing her hand gently on John's curls, "You as well. Keep an eye on Sherlock for me?"

"I shall try my best," John said solemnly before grinning mischievously at his babysitter.

"Bye, love," Mrs. Holmes said to Sherlock before shuffling down the hallway on glittery heels.

"Your mum is really pretty," John said after inhaling his second piece of pizza.

"Objectively, she has many of the traditional features that the general public would considered aesthetically pleasing," Sherlock shrugged.

"Does your da think she's pretty?" John asked.

"I believe he does," Sherlock said evenly, "Why do you ask?"

"Tom calls Mum pretty," John huffed lightly.

"Thomas Jeffrey Hoyt. Your mother's boyfriend," Sherlock replied.

"He tells me to call him Tom," John explained, "Which is weird because I'm supposed to call every other adult by their fancy name."

"He just wants to be your friend," Sherlock said quietly.

"Mum keeps saying that he's gonna be a part of our family," John sighed, sounding slightly miserable, "Do you think they're gonna get married?"

"Do you not like him?" Sherlock asked, "Has he ever been mean to you?"

"No, I mean, he's okay, I guess," John answered, "He keeps telling Mum that I need to build character. That's what they're doing this week. Tom said that they're gonna secure my future."

"John…" Sherlock asked carefully, "Where are your mother and Mr. Hoyt going this week?"

"Mum wouldn't say," John shrugged, before swallowing heavily, "You don't think that he'd take Mum away from me, do you?"

"Not at all," Sherlock said, turning John's stool to face him before grasping his chin gently to pull John's eyes up to his, "Your mum would never ever leave you. Don't ever think that. She loves you more than anything in the entire world."

"I know," John said heavily, "It's just that she wouldn't even let me come with them. I must have asked her a thousand times but she just kept saying no."

"She probably just didn't want you to miss classes for a week," Sherlock said confidently, "We have to keep that brain active, don't we?"

"Yeah," John admitted, "Mrs. Turner says I'm the best at maths in my whole grade."

"I don't doubt that for a second," Sherlock answered with a smile, "Now shall we clean up this mess and see what's on telly this evening?"

"Okay," John replied.

John was curled up in the big bed asleep when he heard something clunking loudly in the hall outside the bedroom. He jerked awake and shifted toward the edge of the bed waiting for any more noises. It was pitch black in the room and there was no light coming in through the door from the hallway. He was just about to scramble back up to the pillows when his door slid open showing just the barest outline of an extremely tall person entering the room. With a great leap and a fierce shriek of bravery, he slammed into the top half of the intruder.

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Sherlock was browsing through the course catalog for the upcoming school year when a high-pitched shout sounded loudly from the room across the hall. He vaulted off the bed and threw his door open, hitting the light switch on the way just as the door to John's room opened and Mycroft stumbled out with John's arm wrapped firmly over his face with the rest of him clinging to his brother's shoulders with fingers and toes.

"I believe this belongs to you?" Mycroft growled out causing Sherlock to throw back his head and start laughing uncontrollably, "Would you stop bloody laughing?"

"What's going on?" Mrs. Holmes said running down the hall.

John was still hanging from Mycroft's limbs and neck but he poked his head over his shoulder to call out loudly, "He said a naughty word!"

This caused Sherlock to laugh even louder and collapse against the wall to support his weight as the amusement and affection for this little boy poured out of him. He watched on happily as Mycroft tried to maneuver the little boy around so that he could set him down on the floor neatly.

"Mycroft," Mrs. Holmes smiled. "I didn't know you were coming home today. I would have told you that John would be staying with us for the week."

"Hello," John said, thrusting a hand out, "My name is John Watson. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," Mycroft said, shaking it firmly, "Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder brother. I do apologize for disturbing your sleep cycle."

"That's alright," John said brightly.

"Now that everyone has been formally introduced," Mrs. Holmes cut in, "Mycroft, why don't you take the east room. John, you best get back to sleep. You have school in the morning."

"Okay, Mrs. Holmes," John said, "Goodnight everyone."

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mrs. Holmes watched as John quickly returned to his room. Sherlock turned back to his room but was stopped by the expression on Mycroft's face.

"What?" He drawled over his shoulder.

"I see why you like him," Mycroft said blandly, "He does have a bit of a spark about him, doesn't he?"

Sherlock just huffed loudly and spun on his heel secure in the fact that Mycroft didn't know the half of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter continues with John staying at Sherlock's house for the week. Enjoy!**

"Boring…dull…useless…mind-numbing…oh, look, my brain could actually rot from this," Sherlock growled to himself searching through his father's library for something to entertain himself.

He was two seconds away from reorganizing the whole thing out of spite when his phone went off.

"What?" He drawled.

"Is this Sherlock Holmes?" The male voice said over the line.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, "What do you want?"

"I have you a note here that says you are the contact person for John Watson this week. Is that correct?" The man chirps.

"Is he alright?" Sherlock says loudly feeling his heart clench strangely.

"We need you to come in and pick him up as well as have a chat with the Vice Principal," The man replied, "Are you able to come now?"

"Would it _literally_ kill you to actually answer my question? Because if you don't answer it in the next few seconds, you're going to be six feet under anyway." Sherlock growled darkly, "Is. He. Alright?"

The line was eerily quiet before a voice squeaked over the other end, "He's fine, just fine. Will you come?"

"I'll be there," Sherlock said before hanging up and shoving the phone back in his pocket.

He sat in Mycroft's car jiggling his leg repeatedly after checking, double checking, and triple checking the news websites for anything that could have happened at John's school. Mycroft was an unfortunate by-product of his car but his mother was out and he had no other forms of transportation open to him.

Once the vehicle came to what could conceivably be considered the very early stages of a full-stop, Sherlock leapt from the vehicle and made his way quickly to the front door and into the office. He caught sight of John sitting frozen in a little plastic chair and he vaulted over the office manager's desk to slide to a halt at John's feet. He soaked up John's features. Tense and twisted, eyes staring at nothing and breathing slightly labored. Nose shows faint bruises and both nostrils have trace amounts of blood with poorly cleaned swipes above his lip. Skin's pale and slightly clammy. Hands shaking just slightly.

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly, clasping John's trembling hands in his own, "John, are you alright?"

John nodded miserably and leaned into Sherlock's form, resting his head heavily on his shoulder. Sherlock placed a hand reassuringly on the back of his head and ruffled his hair in an attempt at comfort.

"Mr. Holmes?" A woman's voice inquired quietly.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"If you and John want to come into my office, we can discuss it," She said competently, "We've already spoken to the other student and after a few questions, you can take him home. He's a bit shaken."

Sherlock gave John a few more comforting pats on the head before pulling back and unfolding to his full height. He felt John's fingers clutch tightly to the hem of his shirt as they walked into his Vice Principal's office.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" She asked, turning to Mycroft with a suspicious eyebrow.

"Mycroft Holmes," He smiled winningly, "Sherlock's brother. John's staying at our house until his mother returns from her trip. Please do continue."

She gave him one more uncertain look before sitting down at her desk and motioning for John and Sherlock to sit. John practically collapsed into a chair but kept a firm grip on Sherlock's clothing causing him to shuffle his own chair closer to the small boy before sitting himself.

"Alright," She said, "John, do you want to tell me what happened?"

John just shook his head slightly and grasped onto Sherlock's shirt tighter.

"The other student has already given an account of what happened," She continued, "I'd like to hear your side of the story."

John just stayed silent and focused on the floor.

"You don't want to tell me?" She urged, "Ms. Morstan has told me her side of it and it doesn't particularly paint you in a good light, John. Don't you want to defend yourself?"

John just curled a little closer to Sherlock and remained silent.

The Vice Principal sighed and began directing her speech to Sherlock, "John has been involved in a fight. From what I can gather, at some point Ms. Morstan was pushed to the ground and at another point she hit him so hard in the nose, he got a nose bleed. Ms. Morstan has given me her version of the events and without John talking, there's not a lot I can do to rectify any bad behavior on her part."

"Look at him," Sherlock urged, "He's practically catatonic. John doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. Does this look like a boy who's done anything wrong?"

"I don't need you to convince me of John's character, Mr. Holmes," She said honestly, "He's a very good student but these things do occasionally happen and without John giving me any reason not to, I have to exact the proper consequence for physically assaulting another student."

"And what _consequence_ are you suggesting?" Sherlock asked trying and failing not to sneer.

"John," She said, kindly turning back to the little boy, "Do you understand that pushing Ms. Morstan to the ground was a not good thing to do?"

He nodded solemnly but didn't look up.

"You know that every action has consequences, right?" She said, waiting once more for his nod, "The consequence of hurting another student is no recess for two weeks. You'll stay inside and do homework quietly as well as turn in a short essay on why you shouldn't hurt others, alright?"

John nodded again. The silence and stillness of his little ward was making Sherlock's hair stand on edge. Even when John was tired, his behaviors were always fluid and punctuated by sighs or laughs or chatter. This was unnerving and Sherlock was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Are we free to go?" Sherlock asked, wanting to get John out of here as quickly as possible.

"Of course," She said, sighing at John's lack of response.

Sherlock stood slowly and John got to his feet as well, continuing to clutch at Sherlock's shirt. As they turned to head out of the room, Mycroft glanced over John once before placing a hand heavily on John's shoulder and whispering to the boy, "Don't worry, John. These things do get easier with time."

"If you can get anything out of him," Sherlock heard the woman say to Mycroft, "I really do need to know what is going on with my students."

"Of course," He answered nobly, "But I wouldn't be too worried about this. Children will be children, after all."

The ride back was quiet and once they arrived back at the house, John made his way slowly up to his room before dropping face down on his mattress and lying there like a dead fish. Sherlock sat down next to him and placed a warm hand on his back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock asked quietly.

It was like a circuit finally closed; John leapt up and shrieked at the top of his lungs, "SHE KISSED ME!"

There was a beat of silence when Sherlock brain experienced a forced shutdown before John continued.

"SHE KISSED ME!" He shouted, "She can't do that. You can't just _do_ that. It's against the rules. You can't just kiss people without asking first. There are very serious laws about this kind of thing. She kissed me and _then_ she punched me in the nose! In the nose, Sherlock! And it hurt, so I pushed her. I know I shouldn't push people over but she kissed me and then she punched me and my head just went…like…BOOM and then she told the teachers that I pushed her down first! She lied and she kissed me!"

Sherlock watched this firecracker of a kid throw himself across the room in distress and uncertainty and felt relief and amusement flood into his body.

"John," He said firmly, grabbing a flailing arm and pulling him close to catch his gaze, "I'm guessing you didn't want her to kiss you?"

"I wouldn't have minded," John sniffed awkwardly, "But she didn't ask first. And then she punched me."

"You're right," Sherlock agreed, "She should have asked you first. That was very rude and even more inconsiderate was her then punching your nose. Did she tell you why she did these things?"

"She kissed me because she said she liked my jumper," John said, tugging at the infernal piece of clothing in distress, "And she said she hit me because I didn't ask her to be my girlfriend. I didn't even know that I was supposed to do that. How was I supposed to know that?"

Sherlock smiled ruefully before answering, "I really can't help you there, John. Girls aren't really my area. But you didn't do anything wrong. You don't have to be her boyfriend if you don't want. I do believe you're very young for that sort of thing."

"Mike's Cassie's boyfriend and he has to give her his pudding every day at lunch," John sighed, "I like my pudding. I don't want to have to give it to Mary every day."

"Then I suggest that you take yourself off the dating scene until you're quite ready to sacrifice your pudding in the name of adolescent play dates," Sherlock said sagely.

"Plus, Tom has to take out Mum's trash," John said in his defense, "And I don't want to have to go all the way to Mary's house to empty her bins."

"I think you're making a very wise decision," Sherlock said, ruffling his hair a bit, "Are you feeling better?"

John literally fell against Sherlock and the taller man wrapped him up in a big hug.

"Do you think Mum'll be mad?" John mumbled against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I'll talk to her," Sherlock answered, "And your teachers too. You shouldn't be penalized for any of this."

"I shouldn't have pushed her down," John said quietly.

"No," Sherlock said, "But I think we can reduce your sentence a bit."

"Thanks," John whispered.

"You're welcome, John," Sherlock answered, "Why don't we take Mycroft's car out to get some ice cream?"

"No," John sighed heavily, "I'm just tired."

"Why don't you have your bath early then and take a nap," Sherlock said, "We can work on your homework after dinner."

Sherlock left John to it and went into the kitchen to make a few phone calls.

"I've taken care of speaking with his Vice Principal," Mycroft said, seated at the table and snacking on a slice of red velvet cake, "It was rather obvious what happened."

"Transparent," Sherlock bluffed.

"He is inordinately fond of you, Sherlock," Mycroft said evenly, "And you are extremely good with him."

"Stating the obvious?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"Stating the improbable, in fact," Mycroft countered.


	6. Chapter 6

**John's still with the Holmes family. Thanks to all my readers! **

"We could just order something in." Mycroft said, perched on the stool looking fairly concerned at the events surrounding him, "Or we could even go out. I wouldn't mind covering the bill."

"It's not the same," John said simply standing on a tall chair to reach the cupboards, "Do you know where the pancake mix is?"

"Third cupboard from the left," Mycroft answered simply, "I could get my assistant to make us something."

"Mycroft," John sighed, sounding as if he was interacting with a simpleton, "It's Saturday morning. On Saturday mornings, we make pancakes and eggs. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Why can't Sherlock help you?" Mycroft asked nervous for his suit as well as his dignity.

"He had to run to the store to pick up syrup," John answered, "Now where do I find the pans?"

Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Holmes arrived home from her early morning jog to find both her boys as well as John covered in a dusting of pancake mix. The kitchen was littered with dirty dishes and sticky splotches of egg whites and syrup.

"We made you breakfast!" John called out gleefully, gesturing to the plate practically overflowing with food.

"Well isn't that sweet," She said, directing knowing looks to counter the avoiding ones from her children, "I can't remember the last time someone made me breakfast."

"Yes, well," Mycroft huffed, trying to brush off his shirt sleeves, "John was rather insistent."

"May I ask who is going to…umm…put everything to rights after we eat?" She asked tentatively, not wanting to hurt John's feelings.

"Sherlock, of course," Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow, "He's the one who made the mess."

"Hey!" Sherlock said defensively, "You're the one who tried to open the pancake mix without scissors."

"Well, you thought it would be a brilliant idea to juggle the eggs," Mycroft answered back.

Mrs. Holmes let the familiar cadence of her boys' bickering waft over her as she ate her breakfast. She'd have to make herself pancakes more often. It was much easier to tolerate their fraternal spats with flapjacks and eggs. John was a godsend.

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John rolled out of bed at the first flash of lightning. He wrapped himself up quickly in his duvet before wandering out into the hall as a crack of thunder made the walls of the house vibrate. Moving carefully down the stairs, lit only by the occasional flashes of lightning and a soft glow from the kitchen, John moved to stand against the huge panes of glass to watch the storm rage around them. Rain lashed hard and fast against the window making visibility low. He stood, pressing his face against the glass for several minutes before wandering into the empty kitchen. Mrs. Holmes liked to keep the light above the stove on at night. He opened the fridge to pour himself some orange juice before flipping on the kettle and perching on one of the stools swinging his legs back and forth impatiently. He hopped down as the kettle clicked and carefully grabbed a mug from the drying rack next to the sink. He was too short to grab the mugs from the cabinet. He carefully poured the hot water over a tea bag and waited precisely two and a half minutes (he put the timer on from the microwave). After tossing the tea bag in the trash, he refilled his glass of juice before carefully walking back up the stairs and leaning his ear against Sherlock's door. Over the thunder, wind, and rain, he heard his babysitter mumbling and pacing through the heavy glass. He looked for a place to set down his juice but just decided on putting it on the floor before pulling the door open. He picked up his juice again, making sure not to spill either drink

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

He watched his babysitter pace almost frantically back and forth. His hair was a wreck and his face looked pinched and pale. He tried again, "Sherlock."

Sherlock whipped around and almost stumbled to a halt at the little boy's entrance.

"What are you doing up?" Sherlock asked, "You're not afraid of storms."

"No," John shrugged, walking forward with the tea held out in front of him, "But you don't like them."

"Nonsense," Sherlock said weakly, but he took the tea anyway and collapsed on the chair of his desk heavily anyway.

"It's okay," John answered, "Mum says being afraid of stuff is normal."

"I'm not afraid," Sherlock tried to explain, "It's just the noise…I can't focus my thoughts…it's disruptive and I can't seem to control the flurry of input."

"Oh," John answered, not sure that he understood any of that, "What are you trying to think about?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said tiredly, "Anything. I just…I just can't."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" John asked.

"The tea is wonderful," Sherlock replied, "Thank you very much. But shouldn't you be sleeping? Your mother is coming rather early tomorrow."

"Yeah, but I thought you might need company more than I need sleep," John answered simply.

"That's incredibly thoughtful," Sherlock said, "But I don't want to keep you awake all night. Why don't you head back to bed? I'll be fine."

John sipped his juice slowly, stalling for time. He didn't want Sherlock to be scared. And he always hated being alone when he was scared. He tried to think of what he could do to help his very best friend when a sudden idea floated to the top of his mind.

"Wanna play a game!" He asked happily.

"It's two in the morning," Sherlock answered, "What kind of game could we possibly play?"

"I know the perfect thing," John said confidently, gesturing for Sherlock to switch places with him.

"John?" Sherlock said several minutes later pacing back and forth impatiently.

"Yes?" John asked, distracted.

"Do you need me to help you?" Sherlock pleaded.

"No," John answered firmly, "I can do it."

"I'm aware that you have the ability to do it," Sherlock cajoled, "I was just asking if maybe you wanted me to do it instead."

"No," John continued stubbornly, "I can do it."

"I really don't mind. At all," Sherlock urged.

"Mrs. Donovan would say you're being disruptive to the class," John replied, "And then you wouldn't get to go art class. You'd have to stay back and write lines."

"If you let me take over," Sherlock answered, "I'll stop being disruptive. I promise!"

"Sherlock," John huffed in amusement as he continued to peck at the keyboard, "You're funny."

John continued to slowly pick out the letters on the keyboard with his pointer fingers while glancing up at the screen every few seconds. He ignored Sherlock who had dramatically thrown himself on his bed in a fit of overwhelming desperation causing John to giggle uncontrollably.

"Okay!" John said maneuvering the mouse carefully, "Ready to play?"

"Ms. Pacman?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Yeah, Mike showed it to me the other week when we were at his house," John smiled, "It's really fun."

John played for several minutes, dying often but restarting each time with a sigh and a smile. He let Sherlock take over after a bit and he smiled smugly to himself as he watched Sherlock absorb himself so much in the game that he wasn't even aware of the storm slowly moving away. He curled up on Sherlock's bed as he internally gave himself a high five. He was brilliant.

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Sherlock stretched languidly and pushed himself away from the computer with a satisfied groan. That game had been surprisingly pleasurable. He glanced out the window and blinked in confusion at the morning light streaming into the room. He wasn't aware that it was morning already. The storm had passed through as well. He turned to find John curled up under his duvet, snoring lightly and burrowing into Sherlock's pillow. He felt a warm smile overtake his features. John really was outstandingly unique. He got up quietly, closing the blinds and making his way down the staircase to get another cup of tea. He was just about to enter when he heard voices coming from the dining room.

"That's so exciting!" his mother said happily, "Engaged! Oh, Noelle, I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," Ms. Watson sighed, "I haven't been this happy in ages."

"Tom sounds like a very good man," Mrs. Holmes continued.

"He is such a good guy," Ms. Watson replied, "And he tries so very hard with John."

"Does John like him?" The older woman asked.

"I feel like a terrible mother for saying this," Ms. Watson said fervently, "But I really have no idea."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Holmes replied.

"You've met John," Ms. Watson tried to explain, "He's so proper and accommodating. I can't tell if he genuinely likes Tom or if he's just being polite."

"Surely he would tell you though," Mrs. Holmes reassured her, "If he had a problem with him."

"I hope that he would," Ms. Watson said, sounding almost sad, "I mean, Tom is really good with him and I'm sure that John doesn't dislike him. I'm just not sure that he really truly looks at him as a father-figure and I worry that John doesn't have a strong, male role model in his life."

"John is a great kid," Mrs. Holmes said firmly, "And you're a great mother. John doesn't need to look at Thomas as a role model. He's got you. You're all he'll ever need to look up to as a parent."

"You don't think he's suffering from the lack of a father?" Ms. Watson asked sounding unsure.

"Not at all," Mrs. Holmes answered steadfastly, "John is great. Don't put any pressure on it and I'm sure they will find a rhythm soon enough."

"Thanks, Charlotte," Ms. Watson sighed heavily.

"Anytime," Mrs. Holmes replied, "Should we wake John up? Last time I checked he was passed out on Sherlock's bed while my son was zoned out playing some computer game with fruit."

Ms. Watson laughed warmly, "I don't know what I was thinking! John's had Sherlock since he was four. He doesn't really need any other male role model than him."

Sherlock crept away from the door and went to stare out at the scenery from the front room digesting this new information. John was getting a step-father. That was interestingly uncomfortable. Sherlock wasn't stupid. He knew that once John became close with this Thomas fellow, he wouldn't look at Sherlock the same way. All of the things that John used to think were brilliant about him would be recategorized as abnormal. It's true he'd never once thought of himself as a paternal figure in John's life, but he'd always selfishly considered himself integral. The idea that he'd be replaced by some average accountant was making his skin clammy. He was heading back to school today for the new semester anyway. He'd have to spend some time thinking this new development over.


	7. Chapter 7

**First of all, thanks to everyone for reading! I promise that I will be able to respond to comments shortly.**

**Secondly, I'm sorry it's taken me a week to update! My jobs and my apartment and, well, basically, my life have conspired against me.**

**Thirdly, I'm sorry. I tried really, really hard to keep this fluff, but we've officially descended into angst. I apologize. I'm a horrible person.**

**Fourthly, this is set just a couple of months after the ending of the last chapter.  
**

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"John, please stop tugging at your tie," his mum begged, "Tom'll have to re-do it again."

"Sorry," John huffed, glancing around the restaurant impatiently.

Harry and him had gone with his mum and Tom to the courthouse today to watch them get hitched. Now, they were having a dinner for the family and a few friends and John had been allowed to invite a guest. He'd sent Sherlock a letter about it weeks ago and Sherlock had said that he would try to come. John watched, distracted, as cousins and Mum's friends from work and some people he didn't know from Tom's family filed into the private room. Harry was practically laying on a girl named Clara who his sister had said was a Cancer and her perfect match. Clara seemed nice enough. It was five minutes until dinner was supposed to start and John was feeling tendrils of disappointment wrap around his heart.

"John," Tom called out to him from his perch by the entryway, "Your mum wants everyone to get settled. Come have a seat."

"I'm waiting for Sherlock," John explained, "He said he'd try to come."

"John," Tom sighed, "He said he'd _try_ to come. That doesn't mean he'll be able to. Plus, he probably has other commitments."

"He'd have called though," John answered, "If he knew he couldn't come."

"Come on, John," Tom motioned, "This is your mother's day. Behave, alright?"

John gave the door one last glance before heading into the room. Tom wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him into the room when he heard someone knock on the frame.

"Am I late?" Sherlock asked sheepishly.

John launched himself at his old babysitter and wrapped his arms around his waist tightly.

"You're always late," John mumbled into Sherlock's stomach.

"My apologies," Sherlock said, "You'll never believe the stories I have to tell you."

"We're just about to sit down," Tom interrupted, "You're the babysitter, I take it."

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said absentmindedly, before letting John lead him over to their table.

Sherlock slid gracefully into the chair next to John at one of the circular tables off to the side. He was seated at a kid's table, surrounded by Tom's sister's four children. The addition of Sherlock's lanky form amongst the group was laughable at best.

"You're not a kid," The eldest one sniffed into his Shirley Temple.

"It's true that it has been several years since I reached the age of maturity," Sherlock said evenly, "But I find the company at this table far superior."

"Mum says I'm a singular human being," One of the twins said haughtily.

"Considering your monozygotic sibling to your left," Sherlock drawled, "I'd have to fault your mother for not owning a dictionary."

"You're weird," The child sneered.

"He's brilliant," John cut in firmly.

"You're both weird," The other twin sniffed.

And with that, the conversation between the kids and Sherlock and John was concluded for the evening. John shifted his chair to face Sherlock and grinned widely.

"You've gotten taller," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Mum says I've grown almost an inch," John said proudly, unconscious stretching is posture upward in response.

"Impressive," Sherlock answered seriously, "School going well?"

"It's okay," John shrugged, "Mum says I'm starting a new school in the autumn."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked evenly, "Where's that?"

"Dunno," John said fiddling with his fork, "It's the type where you live there."

"What brought this on?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"Tom says it'll be good for me," John said quietly, "'Toughen me up a bit' is what he says."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Sherlock said fiercely, "Don't ever let anyone convince you otherwise."

John felt a weight lift a little from his chest. He met Sherlock's open face with a tentative smile that turned quickly into a laugh as Sherlock ruffled his hair.

"Do you want to go?" Sherlock asked following a small silence between the pair.

John shrugged again but answered honestly, "I don't know. Tom's pretty chuffed with the idea and Mum keeps saying that it's such a 'huge opportunity' and stuff. I think it'd make her happy."

"What would make you happy?" Sherlock countered.

John's only real answer was another shrug and a sigh. The changed the subject once the food had arrived and Sherlock had John cackling loudly with stories from Sherlock's time at University. The dinner was over and guests were slowly leaking away when John's mum made her way over.

"Sherlock!" She called out happily, "It is so very good to see you! Your mum tells me all about your high marks."

"My greatest achievement apparently," Sherlock answered.

"We were so worried that you weren't going to make it," She continued, "You do look a bit peaky, dear. Are you not feeling well?"

"A minor cold," Sherlock answered quickly, "John was mentioning about his new school…"

"Isn't it just a complete wonder?" Mrs. Hoyt beamed, "Tom worked so very hard to get him in and the school is just fantastic."

"Noelle?" Tom called, "Do we have John? We should get going. The bill's all settled."

"Mum, can Sherlock come over for a bit more tonight?" John begged, "We haven't seen each other in ages."

"Oh, not tonight, sweetie," his mum said sadly, "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Why don't I come home again in the next month or so?" Sherlock tried, "Or maybe you can come visit me with your mum one weekend?"

"Okay!" John answered happily he'd always wanted to visit Sherlock's school.

"We'll see, shall we?" Tom said vaguely, "Ready, everyone?"

"Sherlock," his mum said, hugging the young man firmly, "Thank you for coming. I know it meant the world to Johnny."

"I was happy to," Sherlock answered.

"Bye, Sherlock," John said, sounding kind of gloomy.

Sherlock ruffled John's curls again before pulling him into a warm hug, "Goodbye, John. Call me soon, alright?"

"Alright," John breathed into Sherlock's side, "I promise."

000000000000000

"Mum," John called out as he brought the post in for the day, "Another one came back. Did I get the address wrong again?"

His mum glanced over his shoulder and lightly kissed his temple before patting his arm lightly, "That's the right address, sweetie. Maybe he moved again."

"But he normally sends me the correct address within a few weeks," John said, getting frustrated, "I'm going to try to call him again."

"John," Tom said sternly, "Don't you think you're making a nuisance of yourself? You call him all the time and he doesn't answer. Maybe he's trying to give you a hint."

"Tom, please," His mum said tiredly.

"Do you think that's true?" John asked quietly, "I mean it's been a while since I heard back."

"I'm sure he's just busy, sweetie," His mum cajoled.

"I just want to give him my new address," John said, "So that he can write me back."

"It's been six months," Tom said, gruffly, "I'm sure he has better things to do and so do you. When you agreed to this, John, you made a promise that you would commit to it. I pulled a lot of strings to get you that scholarship and you're lucky that I know one of the teachers. You're not going to let me down, are you?"

"No," John answered, "Of course not. I'm committed. I'm gonna try really hard."

"That's my boy," Tom replied with a flick of his newspaper not noticing the slightly aggravated look on John's face, "Look at you. Got your new haircut and everything. Now, you look like a man."

"He's not even eleven, Tom," His mum said quietly, "I don't know why they had to practically shave his lovely hair off."

"Because he's gonna grow up to be a soldier," Tom said firmly, "Soldiers are tough. That's a tough haircut right there."

John ran his hand over his buzzed hair and sighed heavily. He dropped the rest of the post on the counter, grabbed the phone, and made his way to his packed up room slowly. He was leaving next weekend. He glanced around the space that had been his for the past 10 years and felt uncertainty and anxiety slide icily across his skin. He dialed the number he knew by heart for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few months. He fully expected to leave another pathetic voicemail when he felt his heart leap in his chest.

"_Hello," Sherlock's voice called out blearily through the phone line._

"Sherlock!" John almost shouted into the line, "I've been trying to talk to you for ages and all my letters have been coming back."

"_John?" Sherlock said, sounding confused and hazy._

"Sherlock?" John asked, "Are you feeling alright?"

"_I'm sorry, John," Sherlock breathed, "I'm not really up to chatting right now. My recuperation is rather trying."_

"Oh," John answered, "Should I call back later then?"

"_Why don't I give you a ring on the weekend?" Sherlock sighed, "Gotta dash, sorry."_

"But it's Saturday…" John replied quietly to the dialtone.

John dropped the phone heavily on his carry-all. He picked up the pamphlet on his bedside table and let his eyes wander over the photo of his new school. _St. Vincent's Military Academy_. He catches sight of himself in the mirror with his practically bald head and feels a cold sort of acceptance fall over his skin like armor.

0000000000000000

John was just about to lug his final bag into Tom's car about a week later when he heard someone walking up the driveway. He turned and felt a smile tug at his lips.

"Mrs. Holmes," John greeted her, "Is Sherlock with you?"

"Oh, no, John," She said, sounding worn and tired, "Not today. Is your mother in?"

"Yeah," John said leading her back into the house, "Did Sherlock get a new address because I've tried to send him a letter…"

"I'll let him know that you're trying to get in contact with him, shall I?" She said.

"That'd be great. Thanks." He said.

His mum entered the room and took one look at Mrs. Holmes before telling John to go outside and keep himself busy for a bit. He sat on the porch for about twenty minutes before Mrs. Holmes exited the house again and left without another word. Her face was all splotchy and red from crying. John wandered inside to find his mum running her hands through her hair in exasperation.

"Mum?" He asked hesitantly, "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, dear," she answered noncommittally.

"What's wrong?" John pushed lightly.

His mum sighed heavily and seemed to collapse under a weight.

"Come here, sweetie," his mum said motioning for him to come stand by her chair, "I wouldn't expect to hear from Sherlock for a while, okay?"

"Why?" John asked, "Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine, John," she replied, "He's just…sick…right now. He'll be better soon."

"Can I go see him?" John commented.

"He's not really able to see anyone right now," She answered.

"Can I call him?" John pleaded, "I'm sure he'd want to talk to me. Right, mum?"

"This isn't about you," his mum shrugged, "He's got his own life to figure out."

"Oh," John said heavily.

"Tom'll be here in the next half hour," his mum changed the subject, "Are you all ready to go?"

"Yeah," John answered, "All packed."

"This'll be good for you, sweetie," his mum said vaguely, "Fresh start."


	8. Chapter 8

"Watson, John," The lady called out firmly.

"Here," John responded quietly.

"See me after class, won't you?" She asked kindly.

"Alright," John said quietly.

He was just finishing up his first class in Maths and he walked slowly to the front of the classroom to stand awkwardly in front of his teacher.

"How has your day been going?" She asked, kindly, "I find that everyone's first day here is a bit of a shock."

"It's been alright," John shrugged, "I get told a lot of things."

"Yes," She grinned, nicely, "It can be quite striking to have so many things decided for you. Do you know why that is?"

"No," John answered honestly.

"The point of this school, John," She answered succinctly, "Is to provide you with an opportunity to flourish in the best possible environment. We provide the clothing, the bedding, the meals, the afterschool activities and that leaves you to be able to focus on developing your character, your strengths, and the strong bonds between you and your classmates."

John nodded in understanding.

"You seem like a very intelligent young man, John," She said with a smile, "I think you'll do very well here."

"Thanks," John answered with a blush.

"Alright, off with you now," She said with a shooing motion, "You'll be late for Rugby practice."

000000000000000000

"Well, that was a valiant effort," Mycroft drawled, standing next to Sherlock's hospital bed.

"Fuck off," Sherlock said wincing at the bright lights that were sending stabs of pain right into his brain.

"No, really," Mycroft continued, "Well done. If your goal was to consume the most cocaine in a single sitting then you can claim victory quite proudly."

"Just get the doctor so I can get discharged and get the hell out of here," Sherlock growled.

"I'm afraid that that is not possible," Mycroft said dusting off his cuffs delicately.

"Forget how to use your fine motor skills again?" Sherlock said lamely. His head was pulsing with waves of sharp pain.

"You're being sectioned," Mycroft said with a sad grin.

"No," Sherlock answered firmly.

"Yes," Mycroft countered, "At least a seventy-two hour watch."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Sherlock answered back.

"Oh, dear," Mycroft replied with faux concern, "Well, there was that suicide note that was found on your person when you arrived."

Sherlock stared at his brother in shock. He couldn't have. He wouldn't. This wasn't possible.

"You forged a suicide note?" Sherlock gasped in shock.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mycroft sniffed.

"There is no way that you're getting away with this," Sherlock said heatedly, "I'll tell Mummy."

"Don't worry, Sherlock," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "She's aware of the ruse. I wouldn't want to cause her any more pain than you already have."

"She can't be okay with this!" Sherlock practically shouted, "Where is she? Get her in here. I'll talk some sense into her."

"Sorry, dear brother," Mycroft said evenly, "Mummy is currently researching rehabilitation clinics. She's incredibly busy at the moment."

"I'll tell Father," Sherlock tried again.

"He's still in Tokyo," Mycroft answered, "For the foreseeable future, I'm afraid."

"I'll never forgive you for this," Sherlock said darkly.

"Don't worry," Mycroft answered angrily, "I doubt I'll forgive you for this little stunt."

"How long?" Sherlock asked.

"Most programs are 18 months long," Mycroft replied, "But that will depend entirely on your progress and do remember Sherlock, that any escape will only restart the program all over again."

"Give me your phone," Sherlock said impatiently, "I have to call John."

"No," Mycroft said sounding disgusted.

"I'm not kidding, Mycroft," Sherlock said heatedly, "Your phone. Now."

"And I said no," Mycroft snapped, "That boy worships the ground you walk on. And as human and flawed as I know that you are, I refuse to allow you to show him this lovely side of yourself."

"He'll be concerned," Sherlock pleaded, "We haven't spoken for months and I don't know when I'll be able to speak to him again."

"That's not my problem," Mycroft shrugged, "You made this mess. These are your consequences. Don't you dare try and bring a little boy into this disaster you've brought down around us."

"He matters, Mycroft," Sherlock begged, "Please. Don't let him think I've abandoned him."

"Then get better," Mycroft countered, "And prove it."

000000000000000

John was going down the aisles of Tesco carefully going through the list his mum had written out for him. It was Mum's birthday and Tom had come up with the idea of him and John cooking Mum's favorite meal which really was a very good idea except for the fact that John couldn't cook to save his life so this was going to be a very interesting meal. They had most of the ingredients at the house but there were a few odds and ends that John needed to purchase at the store. He'd get her some flowers to make up for the disaster that was going to be dinner. He was trying to twisty tie some pistachios up in a bag when he heard someone call his name loudly.

"John!" The voice called out to him again and he whipped around before he was practically picked up off the ground and crushed to a taller man's chest with a brute force that made his ribs creak.

"Sherlock?" John asked tentatively against the wool smashed against his cheek.

He let himself be pulled back and held by his shoulders as the taller man scanned his face for several seconds. Sherlock looked…umm…he couldn't say well, exactly. He was almost unhealthily skinny with waxy features and great big circles under his eyes. He watched the manic grin falter slightly in the face of John's stoic silence before Sherlock gave his shoulders one more squeeze and stepped out of his personal space.

"You don't look happy to see me," Sherlock said quietly.

"Just surprised, I guess," John said evenly.

"Yes, well," Sherlock coughed awkwardly, "How long has it been? Four years?"

"Sounds about right," John said, glancing around awkwardly, "Well, it was nice to see you but I'd better be going."

"Wait!" Sherlock called out brokenly as John began to turn and walk away, "Coffee?"

"I can't really," John shuffled uncomfortably, "It's Mum's birthday and I'm helping Tom make her dinner."

"Just for a few minutes," Sherlock almost pleaded, "It's been forever since we've talked."

John glanced at his watch. He did have time. Tom wasn't scheduled to pick him up for the next forty-five minutes and he'd planned on getting a coffee and waiting anyway…

"Alright," John answered quietly, "I just have to buy these first."

John made a quick stop in the tea aisle before checking out. He tried to ignore the way Sherlock practically hovered silently at his back as he used one of those bloody chip and pin machines. Sherlock maintained his vulture-like gaze until they were at the counter of the coffee house. Sherlock quickly paid for John's order and the shorter boy shrugged before heading toward a table. Sherlock sat down across from him and began studying his face again. The strange, wordless assessment continued until the server brought over their drinks and left them to it.

"So…" John began clumsily, "How's your mum?"

"Adequate," Sherlock said dismissively, "You like it, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" John asked, confused.

"Military school," Sherlock said quickly, "You like it. You're doing well there. I'd say top ten percent of your class. Am I correct?"

"Yes," John answered.

"You're playing a sport as well," Sherlock continued, "Rugby going by your posture and the muscle development in your shoulders and back."

"Spot on," John answered, feeling a familiar painful tug in his chest.

"That's surprising," Sherlock said quietly, to himself.

"What?" John said feeling his anger spike a bit, "Surprised that I can get along well without you around?"

He watched Sherlock's face contort in a painful grimace before smoothing out again.

"I'm sorry," John said quickly, "That was unnecessary."

"No," Sherlock said quietly, "No. I understand that you might be…upset…about how our friendship stalled over the past four years."

"Stalled?" John asked, "Sherlock, you disappeared. For four years. Without so much as a goodbye."

"Ah," Sherlock said, "I can explain that. You see…"

"I mean, I get that I was some pathetic little kid that you were just sick of spending time with," John talked over him, letting the pain that had gripped him that first year dribble out of him like poison from a wound, "But you could have at least said that to my face. And you don't have to pretend now like you still care."

"John," Sherlock tried again, "You don't understand…"

"I mean, I wasn't oblivious," John continued, "Your mum and mine refused to tell me anything about you when they got together. It was pretty obvious that you'd finally had enough of some kid trailing after you like a complete idiot."

"John!" Sherlock said firmly, cutting through the spewing of painful, self-effacing statements from the young man, "I was in rehab!"

John felt his brain short-circuit momentarily and he stared open-mouthed at the older man, "What?"

"I was in rehab," Sherlock began to spout off hurriedly, "The week after you called me, I overdosed on cocaine and then Mycroft got me sectioned and then I went into a rehab program and then it didn't stick and I relapsed again and I tried the program again and then I gave up and spent a year in Hong Kong and I finally came home about a month ago and I've been going through withdrawal at home because the rehab programs are incredibly dull and unhelpful and Mummy promised me that she'd let me try to get clean at home if I just came home so I did. And I didn't call you because this wasn't your problem and I didn't want you to see me like this and I didn't want you to remember me like this because you mean so much to me. Your good opinion means so much to me and I'm sorry but I thought you'd be better off without me but then I saw you and I just had to talk to you again and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

John stared in shock as Sherlock began to panic a bit and started hyperventilating. John quickly slid his chair over to the taller man, "Calm down. Put her head between your legs."

He guided Sherlock down and rubbed his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"Breathe deeply," John said firmly, "That's it. Deep breaths. In…and hold it…and out. Take your time. Feel your heart beat slow down. You're fine."

John continued whispering nonsense words as Sherlock began to relax his tense muscles.

"Better?" John asked quietly as Sherlock pushed himself up to lean against the back of the chair.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, "That was…unexpected…"

"It's alright," John answered, truthfully, "One of my mates at school has panic attacks."

"It's really not alright," Sherlock said, "I'm sorry I didn't call you."

"It sounds like you were a little busy," John answered.

"Don't do that," Sherlock said, "Don't do that thing where you make excuses for other people's bad behavior. I'm sorry, John. What I did was wrong and there's no excuse for it."

John sat silently for several minutes as he let Sherlock's words wash over him.

"Are you better?" John asked quietly, "Are you done with the drugs?"

"I don't know," Sherlock sighed, "I don't think I'll ever be sure that I'll never try them again. But I want to be done with them so badly."

"Come on," John said softly, "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked confused.

"To Mum's party," John said simply.

"I don't think…" Sherlock began.

"Nonsense," John said simply, "You're as much a part of my family as Harry. I want you there."

Sherlock seemed to stare at John with a strange, fixated look for several seconds before he smiled brightly.

"I'd be honored," Sherlock said earnestly.

"Good," John said, feeling a swelling of warmth in his chest, "Because I haven't the faintest idea how to make gnocchi and you're going to help me."

Sherlock's laugh sent a jolt of electricity through John that felt so real and true that John couldn't help but smile back. He felt as if a part of him that had been lost had suddenly returned. He felt whole.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry it took so long to update! I went on vacay in Virginia! **

**This is a continuation of the last chapter. They're going to make dinner.  
**

**00000000000000  
**

"So, did you drive here or what?" John asked as they exited the coffee shop.

"I borrowed Mummy's car," Sherlock said.

"Does she know that you borrowed it?" John asked with a smirk.

Sherlock's pleased chuckle sent a flare of warmth through John.

"I'll just text Mum and let her know you're coming," John said pulling out a cell phone.

"Ask her if I can come," Sherlock corrected, "It's her birthday and I'm not exactly an upstanding pillar of the community."

"That's bloody true," John said gruffily, "Can't make a pasta to save your life."

"That was never a part of the occupational description," Sherlock defended, "How was I supposed to know that you don't just cook the pasta in the sauce?"

"Because that's something that everyone knows," John countered.

"Nonsense," Sherlock said, "Or else they wouldn't have put the directions on the box."

"Touche," John smiled before pulling his phone out of his pocket, "Oh, great, Mum said yes."

"So what are we making this evening?" Sherlock asked, leading John over to the car.

"Some pistachio/chicken gnocchi thing," John shrugged, "Mum found the recipe online after eating it one time in Florence. She's obsessed."

John was just climbing into the passenger seat when he heard someone shout his name. He glanced up to see Tom striding over to them and realized he'd completely forgot that Tom was picking him up. Whoops.

"John!" Tom called again, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry," John said honestly, "I forgot you were coming to pick me up."

"How were you planning on getting back to the house?" Tom asked, confused.

"Oh, Sherlock was going to drive," John said as the older man exited the vehicle from the other side and walked around to stand next to John.

"John," Tom said, beckoning him away from Sherlock, "That's not happening."

"Why not?" John asked.

"Because," Tom said, trying to sound reasonable, "He's not someone that you should be associating with."

"What does that even mean?" John asked, feeling irritation creep along his veins.

"John," Tom sighed, "Please don't fight with me. Now let's go."

"But Tom…" John tried.

"Fine," Tom huffed, "He's a drug addict! Now you know! Noelle wanted to keep it from you but I think you should know. He's not a good influence and I'm sure that your mum would agree with me. We're not letting you associate with someone _like that."_

"Mum said he could come to dinner," John said evenly.

"I highly doubt that," Tom said, "Did you tell her that Sherlock was coming over or did you just say that a 'friend' was coming over?"

"I told her it was Sherlock," John said, trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

"I doubt that," Tom continued, "Your mother would never let him in the house…"

"Hello, Mrs. Hoyt!" Sherlock said into his mobile, "It's good to speak to you as well...oh, I'm much better…that's very kind of you…yes, I was just wondering if you wanted me to bring anything with me for dinner…bottle of wine, maybe a dessert of some kind…Oh, trust me, I wouldn't actually force my attempts at cooking on you for your birthday…oh, your husband just arrived. Did you wish to speak with him?"

Sherlock held the phone out to John's blustering stepfather with a blank expression, "It's for you."

John and Sherlock watched Tom take the phone and walked several dozen meters away before gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth across the parking lot.

"Gum?" John said handing a piece to the taller man as they leaned against Sherlock's car and watched the show in front of them.

"Much obliged," Sherlock replied, "Does this happen often?"

"Not really," John shrugged, "But I'm not really here that often. A couple weeks in the summer and then the major holidays."

"So, I seem to be the confounding variable in this situation," Sherlock considered.

"You are a bit of a polarizing character," John said helpfully, "Harry still gets twitchy whenever you're mentioned."

"Rightfully so," Sherlock sniffed, "I'll never forgive her for what she did."

"Sherlock that was like six years ago," John laughed, "I think we can put it behind us."

"Hardly," Sherlock said under his breath.

They watched Tom hang up the phone and take several deep breaths before standing up straight and walking jerkily back over to them.

"Well, Sherlock," Tom said as if he was chewing on glass, "You're more than welcome to join us for dinner."

"Excellent," Sherlock said with a plastered on grin, "Shall we go?"

"John rides with me," Tom said quickly, "We'll meet you there."

John threw a knowing look over his shoulder at the taller man before trailing after his stepdad. They got in the car and they were about a mile away from the store when Tom cleared his throat, "I just want you to know, John, that I just want what's best for you."

"I know that," John answered simply.

"And I have a hard time believing that Sherlock is a good influence on you," Tom said.

"I've known Sherlock for years," John answered.

"That may be the case," Tom said, "But when people make bad life choices, when they are foolish and dangerous, parents have a responsible to ensure that their children aren't exposed to that. It's our job to keep you safe."

"So are you saying that I shouldn't interact with Harry?" John countered.

"That's different," Tom said firmly, "Harry's family. You love your family no matter what."

"But Sherlock's like family too," John said, "He's one of the people I've known longest in my entire life. And I care about him and Mum cares about him. And he cares about us too. He's family, Tom."

"John," Tom sighed heavily, "You're so young…"

"But I'm not wrong about this," John said vehemently.

Tom just sighed heavily before washing his hands of the whole thing. They arrived home shortly after that and John watched as his mum hugged Sherlock tightly for several seconds.

"I'm so glad that you're okay," She whispered fiercely into his curls.

Sherlock seemed at a loss for words for several seconds before leaning in to place a kiss lightly on her cheek.

"Well," Mrs. Hoyt pulled back with a faint blush, "You, boys, better get your bums in the kitchen and make me dinner! On the double!"

That's how, an hour and a half later, John's family was gathered around the dining room table with takeaway pizza.

"I don't know what happened," John murmured glancing back toward the kitchen, "I followed the recipe…"

"Don't worry about it, love," John's mum said firmly, "It's the thought that counts and I love that you tried so hard."

"But that's not a real present," John sighed, "What am I going to get you for your birthday now?"

"Clean up that disaster area of a kitchen, Johnny," Mrs. Hoyt grinned, "And I'll consider this the best birthday ever."

"Ha bloody, ha," John answered grinning before getting up to take some dishes into the kitchen.

The adults fell into a companionable silence as they heard John start to rinse the dishes off. Sherlock inwardly rolled his eyes at the constipated face that Tom was making. He was obviously dying to say something to him. His wife seemed to pick up on it and huffed quietly before smiling serenely at Sherlock.

"He's missed you," she said quietly, keeping her voice down so that her son couldn't hear them over the sink.

"And I've missed him," Sherlock heavily, "It's been…a rough couple of years."

"You left him," She said evenly, "Not a word. Four years is a long time for a young boy. If I wasn't such good friends with your mother, I would have thought you'd died."

"That was never my intention," Sherlock answered, "As I'm sure you're aware, it was impossible to contact him while I was in treatment. But during my stay there, I was…disconcerted…by the person I'd become. I didn't like who I was and I was too afraid to come back because I know that John wouldn't have liked the way I had become. At first, it was a selfish act, but it shifted into one of protection. He should never have to see anyone like that."

"Your mother says you're doing really well," Mrs. Hoyt said quietly, "How long do you think you'll stay at home?"

"Hopefully not much longer," He answered ruefully, "As much as I…acknowledge...the negative effect my actions have had on my family, we were never familiar enough for continued close contact to be a comfortable experience."

"Any plans?" she asked.

"London?" he sighed heavily, "I'm currently at a loose end."

"But you'll try, won't you?" she asked tentatively, "To stay in touch."

"I promise," Sherlock said firmly.

00000000000000000

"Well, thanks for coming," John said. They were standing out on the front porch watching the sunset.

"Thanks for inviting me," Sherlock answered, "And for…forgiving me."

"I'm a bloody saint," John said with a lopsided grin.

"Hardly," Sherlock countered, "Does your mother know about those magazines you have hidden in your closet?"

He watched with smug satisfaction as John's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Git," John murmured punching Sherlock lightly in the arm.

"Well, I'm off," Sherlock said striding down the sidewalk to his car.

"Wait!" John called out chasing after him and tugging on his jacket to get him to stop. He hunched in on himself unknowingly and began scuffing the sidewalk with the toe of his trainer before murmuring, "Can I…I mean…would it be okay…can I have your number? Or your address or something…so that we can stay in touch?"

"Check your phone, John," Sherlock said with a small grin, "I borrowed it earlier and updated my contact information. Phone me anytime but I prefer to text."

John smiled brightly before ducking his head, "Thanks."

"Stay in touch," Sherlock grinned.

"You too," John answered before turning to head back to the house.


	10. Chapter 10

**You do realize that I'm not actually an encyclopedia. SH**

**I know, but I'm desperate. JW**

**Don't you have access to the Internet? SH**

**The whole network went down due to the storm. JW**

**Problem solving is a very useful skill to develop. SH**

**Are you seriously going to make me trek all the way to the nearest diner at 2am in the morning? JW**

**Of course not. I'm just a bit of a sadist. SH**

**Ha bloody ha. Now help me! JW**

**Glutamate and GABA (gamma amino butyric acid). SH**

**You're a genius. Thank you. JW**

**I am a genius. SH**

**Modesty is one of the traits I admire most about you. JW**

**Modesty's boring. Are you still coming to London this weekend? SH**

**That depends entirely on this research paper. I'll let you know by Thursday. JW**

**Fine. Get some sleep. It's counterproductive to your neural development to be up this late. SH**

**Yes, mum. I'm knackered anyway. Text you tomorrow. JW**

**Goodnight John. SH**

**Hey, are you going to be okay? I just checked the weather channel and there's a huge storm in London as well. JW**

**I'll be fine. Don't fuss. SH**

**I'll keep my phone on if you want to chat. JW**

**Now who's being maternal? SH**

**Git. Night. JW**

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**Where the bloody hell are you? SH**

**You can't possibly have gotten lost. SH**

**You've made this trip at least ten times. SH**

**If you've found some female to flirt with and have abandoned me for her, I will sew up all the opening of yours socks. SH**

**You're an hour outside the reasonable time allotted for distance and modes at which you've had to travel. I've checked all of the weather reports and train delays for the past three hours and have found nothing of significance. Call me. SH**

**I can't get a hold of either you or your mother. Heading to the train station now. SH**

"John?" Sherlock asked almost desperately.

"No, this Detective Sergeant Lestrade," a tired voice said over the speaker, "This phone has been ringing almost constantly for the last twenty minutes and it was getting on my bloody nerves."

"Where's John?" Sherlock snarled.

"Who?" the voice asked tiredly.

"John Hamish Watson," Sherlock bit out, "The owner of this phone. Where is he?"

"And who are you?" Lestrade asked tiredly.

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm a family friend. John was coming down to London to visit me," Sherlock said irritated, "Now, he obviously isn't seriously injured because you wouldn't be so blasé about his personal belongings. Judging by your apparent apathy toward the situation, it isn't an incredibly serious crime that he's been detained for either. Judging by the rough and tired nature of your voice, I'd say you've been on desk duty for the past week or so. An almost marathon of constant telephone chatter and chainsmoking because not only is your life insufferably dull but it's also a punishment. What did you do wrong, DS Lestrade? Possibly a conduct violation but more likely just mouthing off to your no doubt incredibly dim superior. That must sting. But for the third and final time, before I inform your superiors that you used to use and deal drugs in your youth, what's wrong with John?"

The line was silent except for a nervous inhale on the sergeant's end of the line.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade said heavily, "Let me grab the file. John H. Watson, 16. Detained regarding a physical altercation on the 2:17p train to London. Five young men involved in total, ranging from 17-22. Watson's came out with a black eye and some bruised knuckles. The other four young men didn't fair so well. Several of them had broken noses and one had a concussion severe enough to require medical attention. The other young men state that they were assaulted by Watson without provocation. However, Watson and several witnesses claim that the young men were harassing a few young girls, no older than 15, and that Watson stepped in to ward them off. They were all brought down to the station for questioning."

"John's a minor," Sherlock bit out, "Has his mother been contacted?"

"I didn't make the call, but the file says that she's on her way but it'll take a few hours," Lestrade answered, "How in the bloody hell did you know all of that?"

"I observed," Sherlock answered, "Problem?"

"Don't do that again," Lestrade answered, "Bloody unnerving."

"The truth makes you nervous?" Sherlock asked snidely, "No wonder you lot never accomplish anything."

"Oi!" Lestrade snapped back.

"We can continue this conversation when I get to the station, Lestrade," Sherlock said before hanging up.

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When Sherlock strode into the station he veered quickly to a halt in front of Lestrade's desk.

"Lestrade, take me to him," Sherlock demanded.

"How did you know who I was?" Lestrade gaped.

"Aside from the cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding you, the pile of empty coffee cups, trash full of ripped up note paper, and the frankly appalling smell of vindaloo," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You have a name placard."

Lestrade blushed fiercely before coughing awkwardly and standing swiftly to lead Sherlock to a comfortable looking waiting room. John's pinched face relaxed quickly as Sherlock strode forward to pull him into a tight hug.

"Hey!" John said happily, "Bloody glad to see you."

"You've ruined our carefully scheduled itinerary," Sherlock said, unable to cover up the relieved cadence of his voice.

"Terribly sorry, old chum," John mocked, "The whole weekend will have to be scrapped."

Sherlock's chuckle seemed to release the final knot of tension in his body, "When will he be allowed to go?"

"Oh, me again," Lestrade said tiredly, "We still need to get a statement with John's mom present and the other boys aren't budging on their story. I'm afraid he's stuck here for a while yet."

"Show me to the room. I'm going to talk to them," Sherlock said darkly, his entire demeanor shifting rapidly.

"The other boys?" Lestrade asked, wrongfooted, "I can't let you talk to them. It's against regulations."

"That wasn't a request," Sherlock growled.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have the authority to authorize that," Lestrade answered.

"I'll talk to your superior then," Sherlock said, dismissively before striding out of the room.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade said, collapsing next to John on the couch, "Does he do that often?"

"The grim reaper routine?" John asked, sighing happily, "When it's necessary. You should've been there when he did it to my sister."

"Terrifying," Lestrade muttered.

"Brilliant," John replied with a warm grin.

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"What did you do?" John asked curiously.

"I simply extrapolated on their futures should they continue in their dim-witted choice of cover story," Sherlock shrugged, "They saw sense after several repetitions of it. They were an incredibly dense bunch."

"You mad genius, you," John giggled happily, "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Sherlock answered as they reached the front doors of NSY, "Did you call your mother?"

"Yeah," John answered, "She was just getting off her shift after finding someone to cover. She said to tell you thanks a bunch and that you're a lifesaver."

"Tell me that again when she gets a look at that eye of yours," Sherlock answered with a huff.

"Lucky shot," John answered.

Sherlock turned to pull John to a halt when they heard someone running after them.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Lestrade's voice called out after them.

"Yes?" Sherlock drawled, "Need me to solve your crossword puzzle as well?"

"What? No," Lestrade said, sounding confused, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" Sherlock asked sounding baffled.

"What you did back there…how you just, saw things…" Lestrade stumbled, "Incredibly useful."

Sherlock's unamused stare right back at him made the DS swallow and cough awkwardly before continuing.

"I just thought that you'd be, if you've nothing else on, I thought you should think about working here," Lestrade continued, "You'd probably be pretty okay at it."

"Extremely elegant, sergeant," Sherlock said rolling his eyes, "But I'm not really the lemming type."

"Oh," Lestrade said, sounding slightly offended.

"What he means is," John cut in with a reassuring smile, "He's not the 'taking orders from an authority figure' type. Bit of an arse actually."

"I take offense to that," Sherlock huffed.

"You do not," John answered back, relieved at the relaxing lines on the sergeant's rather attractive face.

"Well, we're off," Sherlock said.

"Here," Lestrade blushed slightly, handing Sherlock a rather crinkled business card, "If you change your mind."

Sherlock glanced between his young friend, the sergeant and back again before nodding slightly and thanking him quietly and turning back toward the door to leave.

They walked several blocks away from the building before Sherlock observed quietly, "You liked him."

"Fuck off," John blushed, "I'm starving. Indian?"

"Let's get an ice back on those bruises first," Sherlock said, wrapping his long coat even closer around himself.

"Okay, mum," John grumbled, knocking into Sherlock's side gently.

"Juvenile delinquent," Sherlock countered.

"I'm not sorry that I kicked their pathetic arses to the curb," John said defensively.

"I'm not upset about their current humiliated, humbled, pained states of existence either," Sherlock said, pulling the young man to a stop to meet his gaze squarely, "But I don't like you being hurt, John."

"I'm fine," John shrugged, "Just a couple of bruises."

"It could've been much worse though," Sherlock said firmly, "This world is full of disorder. Anything could have gone wrong. I don't want to see you hurt. Promise me you'll try to be more careful."

John's mood grew somber at the serious stare coming from his oldest friend, "I promise."

"Good," Sherlock said before starting them walking again, "Your mother would kill you if you'd gotten hurt."

"That's for sure," John giggled.

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"I can't take this," John whispered furtively, glancing around suspiciously and hiding the gift bag under his jacket.

"Nonsense," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave, "Mycroft pulled some strings. It's perfectly legal. It's registered to you and everything."

"A taser, Sherlock?" John said glancing one more time into the bag, "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Don't worry," Sherlock shrugged, "I spoke with your mother about it. She and I agreed that your protective streak and relatively diminutive frame ("Oi!" John called out.) make you an easy target for the sordid underbelly of this world. Just keep it with you just in case."

"You both worry too much," John said, wrapping the bag up tightly before shoving it in his carry-all.

"Hardly," Sherlock quipped, "You're essentially a magnet for well-intentioned chaos. Now, get going. Your train leaves in ten minutes."

"Thanks I guess," John said with a grin, "Can we do this again?"

"Of course," Sherlock reassured him, "Let me know when your next long weekend is that you're not spending with your mother and we'll plan something."

"Yeah," John answered happily, "Well, talk to you soon."

"Goodbye, John," Sherlock said, "And try to be more careful."

"You, too," John said turning to catch his train.

Sherlock stayed to watch the train pull away from the station with a content little smirk on his face. He pulled out his phone and the little scrap of crumpled paper that had been sitting idly in one of the pockets of his great coat.

"Lestrade," Sherlock barked into the phone, "I saw the details of the arson case online. If you want to find the culprit, this is what you'll need to do…"


	11. Chapter 11

**I know! It's been forever since I updated and I feel like a terrible person because of it! I'll blame it on moving and weddings and my job. Also, I apologize profusely for not answering messages. I'm an awful person. Sigh**

**So, this one is pretty much just fluff. I hope you enjoy it! John is seventeen and Sherlock is twenty-seven.**

**0000000000000000**

"Watson! With me."

"Yes, sir?" John panted. They'd just finished up rugby practice and he was desperate for a shower but his coach had been on his arse all bloody practice and now wanted to verbally eviscerate him before tea.

"Do you want to explain to me what that was out there today?" his coach said gruffly.

"What was what, sir?" John asked evenly.

"That display out there," his coach declared, "Were you even here today?"

"Sorry, sir," John sighed heavily.

"I don't need any apology," his coach continued, "I need to know what happened out there."

"I don't…I'm not…" John stuttered, "I don't know."

"John," his coach said firmly, "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"It's nothing, sir," John bit out, "I'll do better tomorrow."

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure that wasn't my question," his coached hounded him, "You've been out of sorts for days. We're here to support you. Now, spill."

"I talked to Mum a few days ago," John said quietly, staring at the ground and fighting against the catch in his throat, "My sister was...well, she got into some trouble. Drinking and driving."

"Oh," his coach nodded, "Is she alright?"

John flushed but answered quietly, "She's okay. Ran into a telephone pole and got a concussion but she's in a lot of trouble."

"And you're having trouble processing that?"

"I guess," John said keeping his gaze trained on the dirt of the field, "But she doesn't want me to come home for the holiday. Apparently, Harry's in pretty rough shape. Mum wants to keep me away from that. I guess I'm stuck here for the holiday."

"Is there nowhere else you could go?" Coach asked quietly, "No other family? Friends?"

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**Hey. JW**

**Where would you rather spend Christmas: Paris or Florence? SH**

**Mum told you already, huh? JW**

**Our mothers do communicate on an almost daily basis. SH**

**Did she put you up to this? Because I can spend the holiday at school. You should be able to go home for Christmas even if I can't. JW**

**Nonsense. I wouldn't step foot in my mother's house even if a pack of wolves were nipping at my heels and you shouldn't spend the holiday alone. Now pick a destination. SH**

**Are you sure? JW**

**Repetition bores me. SH**

**Git. Why don't we just stay in London? JW**

**If that's what you'd prefer. SH**

**Yeah, let's just plan on that. JW**

**Alright. You're break starts on the 18****th****, correct? SH**

**Yeah, I'll take the train in. Thanks, Sherlock. JW**

**Don't mention it. And don't forget your taser. SH**

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"This place is rather…rustic, isn't it?" John asked, looking around the worn living space with a slight grin on his features.

"It serves its purpose," Sherlock shrugged, "And it's incredibly affordable for London."

"So, it's just you then?" John asked, taking in the faded couch and miniscule telly.

"One bedroom," Sherlock answered, checking his website obsessively for the third time since they walked in, "Business will pick up and then I'll be able to afford nicer."

"How is that whole Consulting gig going?" John asked, glancing wearily at some of the pots boiling on the stovetop.

"It's adequate," Sherlock shrugged, "I find the majority of my clients by combing through the news websites but my own site is growing slowly in popularity. I'm tentatively optimistic about this venture."

"That's exciting," John answered, collapsing onto the shoddy sofa with a heavy sigh.

"Don't get too comfortable," Sherlock answered, hefting a large duffel bag over his shoulder, "We've a few appointments this afternoon that are unavoidable."

"Oh, yeah?" John asked, "What are we doing?"

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"I'm not saying I'm not having a good time," John said evenly, holding the infant gently against his chest and rocking her slowly, "But this seems a little intrusive."

"Nonsense," Sherlock answered, before turning back to Lestrade," Now, do you have the photos from the coffee house or not?"

"It's my bloody day off," Lestrade, clad in his jimjams and a rather threadbare dressing gown, growled, "The day off, may I reiterate, that I'm able to spend with my daughter for what feels like the first time in months and you want to talk to me about work?"

"It will take a matter of minutes," Sherlock countered, "If you would stop whinging."

Lestrade began hitting his head loudly on the doorjam before letting out a pained sigh and turning toward John, "Do you mind watching her for ten minutes or so? The wife is at her sister's for the week and I can't show you the photos."

"That's fine," John shrugged, feeling his heart warm as the pudgy fingers grasped at his fringe and the little girl let out a happy giggle.

"Right," Lestrade said with a relieved sigh, "Thanks. Alright, you maniac, let's go."

John settled gently on the sofa before holding onto her waist carefully and allowing her to bounce on her chunky baby legs. She was babbling gleefully at him and he couldn't help but grin in return. He hadn't spent much time with babies in his life which explained why he was so shocked by how much she looked like her father. He'd been under the impression that most babies just looked generically similar. Slightly wrinkly, always pudgy, round, and crying little bundles of body fluids. But Annabelle Lestrade's big, dark brown eyes and slightly crooked grin were so similar to the Detective Sergeant it was fascinating.

"Alright, John," Sherlock said, "Time to go. Put the baby down before your hormone-addled body convinces your brain that it would be a fantastic idea to create little John Watsons."

"You're such a git," John growled, but it was softened by the following chuckle, "See ya, Greg."

"Yeah, yeah," Greg sighed taking Annabelle back, "Not too soon, I hope."

They exited the flat quickly and John followed as Sherlock led them down into the Underground. They exited in a rather sketchy part of the warehouse district and John checked to make sure that his taser was tucked securely into the back of his trousers. He trailed after the taller man and into a rather dilapidated building near the river.

"Sherlock," John called out softly, "What in the bloody hell are we doing?"

"You can put away your taser," Sherlock answered, "I called ahead. They're expecting us."

John broke away from the taller man to stand and gape at the open space of the warehouse floor. Every available floor space was packed with weightlifting equipment, boxing rings, mats, and blokes built like freight trains.

"Are they going to use me as a punching bag?" John asked nervously, "Because I'm pretty sure most of these guys could snap me in half with their little finger."

"Probably," Sherlock smirked, "You're rather compact."

"Wanker," John said, punching Sherlock lightly in the shoulder.

"We're in ring five," Sherlock answered, "Let's get changed."

The duffel bag contained two pairs of gym clothing, a couple of bottles of water, and two sets of headgear.

"Who are we fighting exactly?" John asked.

"Each other," Sherlock said leading the way back onto the gym floor.

"You want me to fight you?" John said, unable to hide his grin.

"You find that funny, do you?" Sherlock said evenly.

"Well, no offense," John answered, "But you're a bit gangly and I've been playing rugby for years, old man."

"Really?" Shelrock asked.

"I just don't want to hurt you too badly," John said smugly.

"Oh, please take it easy on me, Watson," Sherlock answered, "I'm obviously inferior compared to your youthful strength."

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SLAM

"Oww," John grumbled, rolling around on the mat with a pained groan.

"What is that now?" Sherlock asked, "Twenty-four pins for me to your three?"

John grumbled under his breath and slowly pulled himself back up to standing, "You're a terrible person."

Sherlock just chuckled gleefully and dropped back into a bartistu fighting stance, "You know, you can stop taking it easy on me if you like."

"Nobody appreciates that attitude," John said leaning heavily on one of the posts, "You just sound like a smug bastard."

"Are you ready to admit that my technique is superior to yours?" Sherlock asked.

"I think the evidence is overwhelming in your favor," John sighed, rubbing at his lower back.

"Obviously," Sherlock answered, "Now, are you ready to let go of that youthful swagger and submit to my training?"

John watched him for several seconds in confusion before bursting out a tired laugh, "Has this entire afternoon been about attempting to teach me self-defense moves?"

"You're rather slow today, John," Sherlock answered back, "I may have knocked the last few intelligent brain cells right out of your head."

"Ha bloody ha," John answered, "Alright, unlike someone in this ring; no one has ever accused me of being an arrogant prick. Train me up, oh wise one."

"Excellent," Sherlock answered, "We'll start with your stance…"

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John was collapsed on the grimy couch with several ice packs saran wrapped to his knees, back and upper arms as he attempted to maneuver chopsticks with his exhausted body. He let out a pained grunt as he shifted to ease the ache in his muscles.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked as he flitted back and forth through the flat checking emails, moving furniture, stopping to eat some Chinese food, work on an experiment, etc.

"How are you _not_ completely worn out?" John whinged.

"That isn't really the interesting query, is it?" Sherlock countered, "The fascinating question is why _are _you?"

"You're not funny," John said firmly.

"Then it's probably advantageous that I'm not pursuing a career in comedy," Sherlock continued blasé as he moved quickly throughout his small flat.

"So, we spent today ensuring that I would be unable to move about pain-free for the remainder of the holiday," John began, "I shudder to think what I'll be objected to the rest of the week."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks halfway to the kitchen carrying several mold spore petri dishes and glanced hesitantly at his young friend, "Are you…I mean, are you not having a good time?"

"Don't be daft," John said happily, "There's no place I would rather be."

"Excellent," Sherlock whispered, "That's…very good."

"I am curious about the rest of the week though," John answered.

"Well, tomorrow, if you're amenable, we're going to travel to the top five tourist destinations in London to compare the rates of pickpockets from citizens of varying countries," Sherlock said tentatively.

"Will there be tea?" John asked.

"Of course," Sherlock answered, "It will be used as a prop so that we can blend into the population."

"Then I'd be delighted," John answered with a grin.

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"Uh," John interrupted Sherlock as he was typing frantically at his keyboard, "You busy?"

"Not especially," Sherlock sighed sounding frustrated, "Just trying to disabuse some incredibly incompetent readers of my blog of their insipid opinions."

"That sounds entertaining," John answered.

"It is rather satisfying," Sherlock muttered, "Until I remember that they are literally only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the general public's stupidity."

"Your life is so hard," John replied somberly.

"That's a tragically accurate statement," Sherlock sighed, "What did you need?"

"Oh, well," John coughed awkwardly before holding out a package wrapped in newspaper, "I thought I'd get you something for letting me hang here for the week."

"You didn't have to," Sherlock said offhand but he'd already grabbed for the parcel and started observing the measurements, weight, etc.

"I wanted to," John answered, "I hope you like it."

Sherlock shook it lightly and then sniffed the package before grinning largely and ripping into the paper. He pulled out the dark red fabric and let the soft material run through his fingers.

"I figured you'd need a new one after that Thames fiasco," John explained, "Do you like it?"

"It's incredibly appropriate," Sherlock smiled, "A good scarf is invaluable. Thank you."

"You're welcome," John answered "One of the girls I go to class with sells some of her knitting projects and I thought you might like it."

"I do like it," Sherlock said, "We should try it out, don't you think?"

"What did you have in mind?" John asked.

"I know the perfect Italian place within walking distance," Sherlock answered, "Since it's your last night in London, it'll be my treat."

"Great," John said, "I'll just grab my jacket."

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"Well," John said standing on the train platform, "Thanks again."

"No need to thank me," Sherlock waved away the gratitude, "It's also a pleasure to have you around."

"Good," John said, feeling a strange tugging in his chest and shook it off lightly, "See you soon then?"

"Of course," Sherlock answered, "Have a safe trip."

"I will," John answered, "Bye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, John," Sherlock smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks everyone again for sticking with this fic even with my extended break!**

**Also, keep in mind that everything scientific I refer to in this chapter is complete rubbish. haha.**

**00000000000000000**

"Oh, Mr. Watson," the dorm-mother called out as he was heading for his room, "Your cousin is in the east room."

"My cousin?" John asked curiously.

"Yes," she huffed, "And if you would take out those infernal headphones before interacting with others you might find that people are much more receptive to you."

"Yes, ma'am," John said, pulling the earbuds out, "Sorry, ma'am."

He wandered through the building to one of the more formal event rooms that the campus had and laughed out loud when a familiar fluff of black curls peaked out from under a piece of furniture.

"My cousin?" John asked with a grin.

Sherlock crawled out from under the formal dining table and smirked, "They have the most restrictive visitor's policy here, John. Apparently, you have to be a relation of some sort. Luckily, I have extensive knowledge of your childhood and the third anecdote about your preferences for nudity in your early years was more than convincing enough for the receptionist."

"You didn't," John groaned.

"Needs must, John," Sherlock shrugged.

"You barmy git," John said, unable to stifle the fond chuckle, "What was so urgent that you would discuss my formative years when the entire office staff?"

"This is a rather delicate topic that would be best not discussed in such a public setting," Sherlock said vaguely.

"Will this discussion in any way result in my never being able to consume apricots again like last time?" John asked dubiously.

"Of course not," Sherlock waved away his concern.

"Fine," John sighed, "We'll go to my room. My roommate should be in class for the next hour or so."

John and Sherlock made their way slowly up to John's suite. Very slowly. So slowly that they occasionally ended up going backwards in the process.

"What is so bloody interesting about the light switches?" John asked.

"Based on the oil residue from the hands of your classmates," Sherlock rattled off, "I can determine the time and enthusiasm level of their last alcohol binge."

John glanced fondly at his best friend, "Brilliant."

"Hardly," Sherlock said dismissively, but John wasn't fooled. The almost imperceptible upturn at the corners of Sherlock's mouth told him all he needed to know.

They finally made it up to John's sparse, but organized room and the taller man continued his obsessively study of his young friend's environment. John just shrugged and flipped open his computer to check his emails. After another ten minutes of Sherlock exploring not only his belongings, but Murray's as well, Sherlock sprawled across Murray's chair and got John's attention with a strategically thrown gum pack.

"Oi!" John called out, rubbing at his forehead, "Git. Now what's this all about?"

"Right," Sherlock said, with a bright smile before reaching deep into the folds of his giant coat and coming up with a thick stack of paperwork wrapped in a rubber band and dropping it heavily on John's desk, "I've taken the liberty of filling out your loan applications for university."

"Oh," John said, confused.

"Don't worry," Sherlock continued, "I've counter signed Mycroft's name so I would just let him take care of the debt you'll accrue after you graduate."

"Sherlock…" John tried.

"I've also re-filled out your applications to the medical schools you've applied to for the next fall to ensure that they understand the changes to your financial situation."

"I'm not…" John attempted.

"And I've already done some research on cheap flatshares that you could take advantage of for the duration of medical school with regards to the funds available to you from the loan," Sherlock finished with a flourish, waiting once again for John's admiration.

"I've already got my financial situation figured out for school," John said quietly, "Thanks…for all of this, but I'm set."

"But this should be much more appealing to you," Sherlock countered.

"I like my plan," John said gently, "It's a good plan."

"How can you say that?" Sherlock asked, sounding puzzled, "You're agreeing to take a loan from the Army, John. That means once you graduate, you'll be taken away from here to be sent off to somewhere unstable and be charged with taking care of soldiers. It would require almost a decade of your life once you accept that first check. My plan requires much less of a time commitment plus it would reduce your likelihood of coming to harm by almost 87%. You must see the logic in all of this."

"I want this," John blurted out, "I know that you don't get it and I know you probably think I'm being incredibly stupid, but I've never felt so…comfortable anywhere else. And I know that makes me sound completely mental but I have a direction here, a purpose, and you don't have to like it. You don't have to approve of it, but please don't try to talk me out of it. Because if you can't support me then I don't need to hear your opinion on this. Please."

He kept his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him and tried to take deep breaths to calm his nerves. He didn't want this to be a schism between them and he certainly didn't want this decision to cost him their friendship, but he couldn't see a way of being happy and feeling like his life had meaning without this. It was several seconds before he heard Sherlock get up from his seat and John felt an ache so deep that he flinched at the idea of his best friend walking away from him, but with a firm hand on his shoulder all that fear drained away and he met Sherlock's gaze with a rush of hope swelling in his throat.

Sherlock crouched down in front of him and pulled him into a fierce hug that made it hard for John to breathe.

"I just want you to be safe, John," Sherlock's voice rumbled against his chest, "But I want you to be happy as well. If this is what you need to make you happy…then, of course, I'll give you anything you need. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Thank you," John said, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, "But, don't worry, I won't be leaving for over four years."

"John," Sherlock sighed, "I won't ever stop worrying about you. You're so bloody stubborn."

John laughed and when they pulled apart, they both gracefully ignored their red eyes and subdued the urge to sniffle, "At least you're taking this better than Mum and Tom. I thought they were going to lock me in the basement when I told them."

"I would have thought Tom would have been thrilled with the idea," Sherlock said curiously.

"Yeah," John laughed, "His reasons for suggesting military school were a lot more theoretical than literal."

"Simpleton," Sherlock scoffed. He rose to his feet and walked anxiously around the room before taking a deep breath and smiling at John tentatively, "Dinner?"

"Starving," John said, grabbing his wallet and phone.

"Do I have to sign you out or something?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"This isn't prison, you git," John laughed.

"Feels like it," Sherlock scoffed, "Why this school is determined to cover everything in beige brick is beyond me."

"Johnny boy!" A voice called out loudly before the door was flung open by his roommate, "Who's this posh tit?"

"Murray," John made introductions, "This is my cousin, Sherlock. Sherlock, my best school mate, Murray."

"This the bloke you go to London to visit?" Murray asked, sizing up Sherlock with a flat stare, "You never told me you were related."

"Yeah, well," John laughed, "Needs must."

Murray was easily over six feet tall and was built like tank. He was twice the size of John and about seven times louder and more obnoxious. The only times John really got reprimanded at school were always directly linked to one of Murray's mad schemes and John loved every part of it. He wasn't the most intellectually-minded students at the Academy but his father was on the Board of Directors which gave him a certain level of leeway when his shenanigans got a little out of hand.

"Shall we go then?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," John said, "Let me just check my email again really quick."

He'd been sitting at his desk for only a few seconds, responding to a query from some of the younger students he was tutoring in biology about setting up a group study session when he looked over to investigate the eerie silence from the other two inhabitants of the room. Sherlock and Murray were gesturing energetically but absolutely silently at each other. John stared in bemusement for a few seconds not able to decode the frenzied gestures from his friends. Finally, he let out a loud sigh that drew the attention of the other two causing Murray to flush in embarrassment and Sherlock to scoff loudly.

"Well, that was fun?" John queried before shutting down his laptop, "Would either of you like to translate that little interpretive dance for me?"

"William was just telling me that he…" Sherlock began.

"Would be joining you for dinner!" Murray finished gleefully.

"No…" Sherlock growled, "He was saying that…"

"I'd pay!" Murray cut in again, "Be happy to. Small price to pay for getting to know John's childhood pal."

Sherlock dark scowl clinched it in John's mind, "Wonderful. Shall we be off then?"

"But John?!" Sherlock whined, "I didn't come all this way to hang out with some insolent child still having regular nocturnal emissions at the age of seventeen."

The room sort of froze with Murray on the edge wobbling tenuously between outrage and embarrassment. He finally broke out into a loud guffaw and slapped Sherlock hard enough on the back to have him lurch forward.

"Bloody psychic freak, that one," Murray laughed.

Sherlock sneered slightly but he was soon gaping like an idiot as John grabbed his coat and manhandled him quickly from the room with a dark glare at his roommate.

"Hey, where are you goin?" Murray said, wiping the tears from his eyes, "Wait for me."

"You're not coming," John said, evenly.

"But you just said…" Murray began, sounding confused.

"He's not a freak," John bit out.

Murray's expression soon shifted from confusion to a dawning awareness that resulted in an understanding and apologetic smile at his friend.

"He's not a freak," John continued, heatedly, "He's brilliant. And you don't get to talk to him like that."

"Alright," Murray said calmly, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed in reply but he turned to take his social cue from his young friend.

"Right," John said, letting his anger seep away quickly, "I'll be back later, yeah?"

"See you," Murray said, collapsing back onto his bed, "You kids have fun."

The pair walked silently down the hall and Sherlock let John lead them off of the campus and down toward the small town. They tucked themselves into a small corner booth in an almost deserted Lebanese restaurant near the train station. They ordered enough kafta, pita bread, and homemade pickles for a party of ten.

"I'm sorry about him," John sighed before biting into a seasoned tomato, "He doesn't mean anything by it. He really is a good bloke."

"Don't fret about it," Sherlock said waving his apology, "You've been, very admirably, attempting to defend my honor since you were seven. While I do appreciate the sentiment, it's hardly necessary."

"It is, though," John said blushing slightly, "You're my friend. That's what friends do. Stick up for each other."

Sherlock turned his head away but John still caught the subtle twitch of his lips and the softening emotion in his gaze. John took a deep breath and stamped down on his increasing heart rate quickly.

"So how are things in London?" John asked, changing the subject.

"Predictable," Sherlock sighed, "I'm currently functioning under the assumption that criminals are influenced solely by bland police procedural television shows. I don't even have to think. Just turn on the latest episode of Law & Order and, voila, I have the perpetrator. It's hateful."

"That sounds tragic," John grinned, "Don't worry. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm sure the criminal class will get more creative soon."

"The odds are against them," Sherlock huffed disappointed, "The only interesting case I've had in months revolved around the missing binky that someone's Pomeranian had latched onto due to being weaned and sold off before the recommended eight weeks from a puppy mill."

"That's…" John fumbled, "That makes me strangely uncomfortable."

"Why?" Sherlock asked confused, "It was obviously just substituting the nipple of the binky in for the nipple of its mother. It's logically appropriate for the animal to associate the two. Another documented substitution of being weaned too early is the oral fixation that alcoholics display with beer bottles. Take your sister, for example. Scholars would theorize that one of the contributing factors of her alcoholism is that she was taken off the breast to early and she developed an oral fixation due to the substandard release of oxytocin that both the mother and the baby receive from the experience of breastfeeding."

"Can we stop talking about nipples please?" John begged "Especially my mothers! I might actually have nightmares from this…"

"Don't be so squeamish," Sherlock said blandly, "If you're to be a physician, this type of discourse shouldn't make you so uncomfortable."

"Yea, but it won't be my mother's breasts that I'll be discussing," John said, feeling a bit nauseous.

"Semantics," Sherlock answered back, but changed the subject anyway.

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"I'll see you in a few weeks, yeah?" John asked as they stood outside his building.

"Come down to London," Sherlock answered, "I've fostered an acquaintanceship with one of the coroners at St. Bart's. I can get us in to see an autopsy if you like."

"That would be brilliant!" John said, "I'd love to see one."

"Excellent," Sherlock answered, "Let me know when you want to come and I'll set it up."

"Great," John said, "Travel safe."

"Obvious," Sherlock smirked, "Laterz."

John waved him off before heading up to his room. He found Murray sprawled on his bed and sent a tentative smile his way. Murray smiled back readily and threw a pillow at him before putting away his laptop and letting his smile transform into a knowing smirk.

"What?" John asked.

"Oh, Johnny boy," Murray said kindly, "You're in so much trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John shrugged.

"Uh huh," Murray replied, "You keep telling yourself that."


	13. Chapter 13

**Bit nervous about this chapter...I hope that everyone likes it!**

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"You're not a pre-teen, John," Murray drawled as he lounged on his mate's dorm room floor, "Stop staring at yourself in the bloody mirror."

"One too many take-aways," John sighed as he adjusted his rather recently tighter trousers, "It's official. I've become a statistic."

"Would you calm your tits?" Murray sighed.

"I need to start running again," John continued, ignoring his mate and poking at his belly slightly, "Or at least start eating vegetables again."

"Are we really going to spend the evening with me listening to whinge about your waistline?" Murray complained, "Or are you going to that party?"

"Sorry," John sighed, "Yeah, let me just get a jacket."

They made it to the some dilapidated house and the people filing in and the loud music were hints enough that they reached the right location. John checked his phone once before putting it on silent and following Murray into the party. They'd only been in the door a few seconds before Murray had disappeared in cloud of lavender perfume and long, dark hair as he was pulled away by one of the girls in his Calculus course to go dance. John made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a beer before catching sight of some other students in his anatomy class.

"Hey Liam, Amanda," he sidled over.

"Hey!" they called out happily, "Did you get that lab book assignment complete on the adrenal gland yet?"

They chatted nervously about the exam that was coming up next week worth 30% of their grade for a few minutes when another classmate arrived.

"Sarah," John said, fighting down a nervous stutter, "Hi."

"Hey there," she answered with a big grin, "Are you honestly still talking about the course? I could've sworn this was the weekend. We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves and committing irresponsible acts that we'll regret in our forties."

"Oh, really?" John flirted, "Then I think you best show us how it's done."

"Gladly," she said with a wink before dragging him off to the dance area. Christ, she was gorgeous. A witty grin and close-cropped red hair framing gorgeous green eyes.

"So, does this make you my teacher now?" John asked as she leaned in close and he breathed in faint traces of floral shampoo and roses.

"Well, that depends," she murmured.

"On what exactly?" he asked.

Your performance," she said with a wicked grin before pulling him in for their first kiss. They'd been dancing around each other for months really. Paired together for every project in their three shared classes. He would have asked her out ages ago but she'd been dating someone from back home until about a month ago. That had fizzled out as secondary school relationships sometimes do when distance and differences arise during university.

He leaned in heavily to the kiss, wrapping her gently up in his arms as he tasted the slightly fruity taste of her lip balm and traced her full-bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. He let out a startled gasp as she ran a confident hand through his hair and tugged sharply.

"Maybe we could take this…lesson…elsewhere?" John breathed heavily.

"My thoughts exactly," she whispered with a heated stare before planting a firm kiss on the corner of his mouth and leading him out of the party. They made their way slowly back to John's stopping ever few meters to kiss heatedly. John kept an arm wrapped snuggly around her shoulders. The trip up the elevator to the eighth floor nearly broke his self-restraint as Sarah stepped in flush against him and he could feel her breasts brush against his chest. At the ding of the doors, John walked Sarah backwards unwilling to break the kiss. She pivoted suddenly right outside his door and John moaned softly as she pushed him firmly against the wood and started leaving a trail of kisses down his neck. He gasped as she allowed him to pull her up against his body and he felt her skirted hip brush against his erection. It was at that point the door to his dorm room swung open from the inside and he fell flat on his arse and stared up into the shocked faces of twelve people he didn't know and one bland smile from his token detective genius mate.

"Sherlock?" he asked confused and embarrassed as he got his feet and tried to cover his erection and ease Sarah's sudden uncertainty at the same time as she fidgeted awkwardly in the doorway, "What the bloody buggering fuck are you doing here and who are all of these people!?"

"I did send you a text," Sherlock said evenly.

"Yes, but I obviously didn't get it, so do you mind elaborating?" John sighed.

"Do you remember the inheritance case I was speaking with you about last week?" Sherlock began, "The one with the aardvark droppings?"

"Yes…" John answered tentatively.

"Well, I've solved it!" his best mate said with a flourish of his great coat.

"Congratulations?" John replied, "I'm still not quite seeing the connection though…"

"I needed a neutral territory to meet with both sides of the family," Sherlock continued, "My flat wouldn't work because it would seem to give preference to the individuals who hired me and the deceased's home wouldn't work either. So, I sent you a text requesting the use of this space to ensure that both parties could ensure fair treatment. I did text you."

John nodded slightly before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

_1 new message._

_Need to borrow your flat for a case. Be there in twenty. Don't bother with a tea service. SH_

"Yes," John said, "I see. But maybe next time, wait until I actually reply before coming over with guests, yeah?"

"If you insist," Sherlock huffed slightly, "But I thought you might find this interesting and it is exponentially more diverting than a university party."

"I'm sure I would have," John answered with a slight grin at his mad best mate, "But for next time. Let me know ahead of time."

"Of course," Sherlock said before focusing behind John and onto Sarah, "Hello."

"Hi?" Sarah asked nervously.

"Mr. Holmes!" a sharp male voice called out from the herd of unknown individuals filling John's room, "Can we please get on with this?"

"Oh, right. Forgot you lot were still here," Sherlock turned back to them quickly with a plastered on fake grin, "Both wills are fake and the real one is safely locked away in a safety deposit box. Coincidentally, you're late grandmother left everything to a series of charities. You can see yourselves out. Ta ta. Don't forget to refer me to your friends."

John and Sarah stood out of the way as the family strode angrily out of the dorm room. Within seconds the room was empty and Sherlock had collapsed back onto John's bed and was idly playing with his phone.

"I do hope you got paid up front…" John said blandly.

"Of course," Sherlock countered, "I'm not an idiot."

"Are you up for Chinese? I'm actually feeling peckish," Sherlock said before glancing once more at John and trying cover up a subtle grin, "Oh, no. I can see you're attempting to avoid take-away at the moment."

"You're hilarious," John said, collapsing into his deskchair.

"Maybe I should go…" Sarah said glancing back and forth between them.

"Oh, yes. Feel free," Sherlock drawled.

"No!" John cut in, "You don't have to go. Sorry about all of this. This is my best mate from back home. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Sarah."

"Hello," she said tentatively.

"Does your sister know that you borrowed her jacket?" Sherlock asked, "And no one believes that is your actual hair color."

"Sherlock…" John groaned as he watched Sarah flush red before stomping out of the room. John tried to go after her but she caught the elevator before he was able to catch up.

"You're a great big berk sometimes, you know that right?" John said.

"Oh, please," Sherlock said, "It was just the truth. She'll be fine and amenable to your amateur wooing techniques by next Thursday. Now that your evening is free, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh, really?" John asked, "And what's that?"

"Since you seem overly worried about your midsection at the moment and I would very much like company for dinner, I suggest that we agree to a two hour sparring session in the ring and then dinner afterward."

"I haven't been to the gym in ages," John sighed, "Been a bit busy with classes…"

"Then no time like the present," Sherlock smirked, "I've already packed your kit, change your clothes and let's go."

"You're slightly mad," John giggled as he went to his closet.

"Then you must be as well," Sherlock answered.

"Obviously," John smirked.

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"Where the bloody hell did you disappear to last night?" Murray asked as John made his way into the taller boy's flat, "Did you and Sarah finally get together?"

"That was the plan," John sighed, "But Sherlock ended up hosting an inheritance stand-off in my dorm last night which kinda tossed a bucket of cold water all over my intended evening."

"Wanker," Murray laughed, "I bet you were livid."

"Ah, it was alright," John said, "Sarah wasn't too keen on the change in plans though. Stormed out shortly after the family did. I've already texted her twice but I haven't heard back."

"So what?" Murray asked, "You spent last night alone with blue balls and a bad attitude?"

"Nah," John answered, "It turned out alright. Sherlock and I went to the gym and then grabbed dinner."

"Alright, just so I have this straight," Murray said evenly, "You spent last night, centimeters away from at the very least a very heavy petting session with the lady you've been mooning over for three long, and may I add torturous for me, months and instead you ended up wading into a inheritance kerfuffle, pissing off the chick in question, and spent the rest of the night rolling around with a bloke and then going for dinner?"

"Could you possibly have come up with a more suggestive description of practicing martial arts with Sherlock?" John sighed.

"I could try," Murrary countered.

"It sounds a lot worse than it was," John answered, "Just don't…"

"Don't what?" Murray asked.

"Don't tell anyone else that, will you?" John asked quietly, "You make it sound grimy that way."

"Fine," Murray answered, "Mum's the word. How is the detective anyway? Last time you spoke about him, he'd been in Germany for six months."

"He got back a few weeks ago," John answered.

"Is he sticking around for a bit longer?" Murray asked.

"He says that he has to go where the cases take him until he is able to build up a stronger reputation. Mentioned something about Florida yesterday," John answered.

"Bloody hell," Murray laughed, "That bloke gets around."

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"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked of the petite women fretting repetitively with her fingernails.

"Yes, young man?" she said glancing up from the barely touched, lukewarm bowl of soup in front of her.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said holding his hand out, "You left me a voicemail."

"Oh, hello," she said unable to muster up a convincing smile but capable enough to return a firm handshake and an assessing gaze, "You're much younger than I had anticipated."

"As are you," he said, trying for charming.

"That's enough of that, Mr. Holmes," she said with a chuckle, "I'm not so easily had as that."

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock smiled, "I do believe we are going to get on rather well and I would be happy to ensure that your husband never leave the American prison system."

"Thank you," she said evenly, "I do hope you're as good as you say."

"Better," Sherlock answered firmly, before taking a seat opposite the woman, "Tell me everything."

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"Large Pumpkin Spice Latte with Soy milk and a dash of cinnamon," John said placing the cup gently in front of Sarah's pile of books in the library.

"Huh," she huffed blandly.

"I…ah…I just wanted to…apologize about the other night," John stuttered.

"Yeah, good idea," she said evenly, "How'd you remember all of that? We've just been out for coffee once or twice."

"Oh, I learned these great memorization techniques from Sherl-I mean, I remembered," he continued, "Can I make it up to you?"

She stared at him blandly for several minutes before sighing heavily and picking up the cup, "It's a good thing you're pretty, Watson."

"Thanks!" John said relieved, "I promise nothing like that will ever happen again."

"Yeah, yeah," she said turning back to her pharmacology textbook, "Just be glad that I'm a pushover. Thai food? Friday?"

"Wonderful, yeah," he said, "Do you mind if I join you? I brought my books."

She leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek, "You're adorable. Help me with the SSRIs?"


End file.
